Yoedian Arl: Part One of The Sea Folk Trilogy
by Memeal
Summary: Mistaken for a pleasure slave of the eastern lands, then taken on board a ship of madmen, Quatre endeavors to make sense of his voyage and find his way to freedom. AU, slash
1. Shipwrecked

(([S] Still sick, but this story came to me and demanded to be told (or begun at least)! I've always wanted to do a story about someone lost at sea. I'm sure I could have made it far longer but curse my patience! I don't want to wait for a resolution! Sad isn't it? I may pick this up another day and rewrite it. I like the idea of the societies of New Hartlin and the Sea Folk. And I like the concept of the minority of the world being the lighter skinned folk, just because I've always wondered what it would be like to have the shoe on the other foot. As well as the inner strife amongst the folk themselves. Who knows?  
  
Okay, so summary: A world of the Four Corners, north, east, west, and south. Noble-born Quatre Winner, upon returning to his homelands with his New Hartlin wife, is tragically shipwrecked and found many days later by a ship of his own people. There, he is thought to be a slave sold to New Hartlin and thus the story is begun. Heero x Duo, Quatre x Trowa, and Wufei is.. well, wonderful. I want to take him home. But as he has dark eyes, I can't let him be with Quat like I initially wanted to.  
  
Oh, and there's a chicken in there too. Somewhere. But she's not paired up with anyone because that would be, well.. sick.

Digressions: I don't own the boiz, wish I did. And this story contains yaoi, or male/male relations. Please be aware of this while reading and do not read it if you are insulted by the thought and find it offensive, or if you are afraid your mother will find you've been reading it and be offended. We don't want to upset her, okay?

Hope you enjoy! It was supposedly a one-shot, but I think it may prove to be longer (I can already feel a 1x2 coming from this some time later!), and it was fun to write. ))

]::[ denotes flash back. Hee!  
[] [] denotes scene change, break in time, etc.  
(fic is done in first person - POV Quatre)

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:: The Sea-Folk ::

[Prologue]

There really is nothing worse than being alone, you know. Not by one's self in the midst of a crowd, or in a room just off of the main. Not like one sitting on a patio over the streets of New Hartlin, staring down at the heads, parasols, loads of market foods, battered hats, and swept up wigs and wishing one had the means to ask someone to come up and share your tea with you. No. Really alone. Truly alone. Not another person in sight, type of alone.

But then, I suppose I'm not completely alone. I do have.. as odd as it may sound, a chicken.

She's a red bird. I can keep it that simple. A Red Harrington, to be precise. I wouldn't have known that, but for the fact that my mother had once taken me to the market for the express purpose of finding a Red Harrington rooster so that we could have the incandescent green tail feathers off of its tail for her new hat. I think we ended up having roasted chicken along with the duck that evening as well and maybe I felt somewhat badly for the thing. He'd been magnificent, with spurs cut off at the middle, the merchant afraid of what damage he could do to a fine lady's hands. And there, he'd already had weapons cut off of him and in the end, his panache was torn from him. It seems a matter of pride and I wonder if they killed him first, but I'm fairly certain that they didn't. My mother would not have wanted blood on the green. All the walking that afternoon just for three green feathers. There had been five total on the bird, but my mother had only wanted the longest ones. The other two simply sat alongside their longer cousins, holding up the longest and supporting them.  
  
She's not as dark in her feathers as he was. And she's dropped a bunch of them, the pinions almost white, dove grey at the very center with longitudinal lines along them. I shouldn't be thinking longitudinal anything. I'm not sure what lines I'm taking right now, or maybe I'm going in circles. I refuse to think that I'm just sitting, going nowhere. I know enough of the ocean's currents to know that I'm going somewhere, even if it's around and around, from south to north. Not that I'll know by the time we are done going one direction. For the moment though, the sun rises in one place and sets in the other and I think I'm going northwest for the most part.

So back to the chicken. Hen, I must call her. She is not exactly the best of companions, but then, she is a break in the monotony of wave upon wave. Even clouds when they come are a welcome relief. For the most part, the sky is the same as it was the day I woke.

For a moment, the rocking had me thinking I was in my mother's arms again. Or maybe in Therese's arms. Someone soft, with the scent of lilac and rhododendron.

]::[Why would anyone wear rhododendron? I chuckle and am answered by another chuckle. Not quite a chuckle. Maybe more like a cackle, but a small sort of cackle, close to a chuckle. Someone is laughing.

And my head hurts to high heavens.

I move my head slightly and wince, my cheek catching at something for a moment. A needle like pain entering my flesh at various point. The wince comes again because the first wince had made the other side of my face hurt as if it had been shot through with fire. It travels along my neck, down over an ear and onto my shoulders. Or one of my shoulders. The sound of waves, could that be the sound of waves?

Ah, that's right. They had been -

I open my eyes and stare at the sky. It's so clear that even the blue has been bled out of it, white grey, violet almost.. silver.

Therese had been silver too, the first time I saw her. I had wanted to touch her at times, trace her hair. But her eyes always stopped me, as if we both knew that if I ever made contact, she'd not be able to make it any different from the pain that touch had given her before.  
  
But I'm digressing. This hasn't anything to do with Therese. It has nothing to do with me. This has something to do with the fact that the ship - ]::[

The hen's cackling had woken me. I wonder what I might have done that day. My body so close to the edge of the boat, hand trailing in the water. And I'd jerked back because she'd made a miniature cry of alarm. The boat was still, nothing, I stared at her, amazed to find a chicken in the middle of nowhere. It was literally nowhere. There was nothing living anywhere. I hadn't even thought of the waves yet and the immense distance beneath them, the worlds beneath them. Maybe I might have drowned myself right then and there if I'd thought of that and maybe that was where my mind was going.

I think of her as a hand of the Lady now. I feel that the aloneness would have gotten to me a lot sooner had it not been for watching her. And I'm glad she's female. Had she been a rooster, I might have fed her to the - well, I can't even think of those things yet. But she'd have been gone. I couldn't do it though, because she's a gift and the Lady does not return favors when we throw Her gifts in Her face. I've come to be thankful. I'm not always thankful, but sometimes when I stare at her, her eyes turning white as she closes them, the inner lid shuttering across the black beads of her lenses, before the harder, scaled lids drop, I realize that I'd have been dead had it not been for her at first. That I might have leapt into the waters and then I'd not be here.

Of course, I may still be dead and maybe she's not a gift at all. Maybe she's a curse.  
  
Only time will tell.

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[Chapter One]

I think that we forget things after a time, when they are too much like the next. I made marks in the side of the raft each day that I woke and the sun was on the horizon. But I wasn't always certain if the sun was rising or setting so I can't be entirely sure on how many days I was on the raft. I had a tarp and a chicken as well as a few barrels I had fished from the waters. Of the three barrels, only two were of any good to me, for the third was full of salted pork and I wasn't not certain that the salt would do me any good so I kept from it, sticking to the few fishes I was able to pull from the depths below by way of a constantly breaking thread from my waistcoat and a small nail from the third barrel which held in its belly more than enough carpentry tools to build myself something had there been a goodly forest nearby. Of course, being none, I was forced to make use of the contents in other ways. Such as nailing the tarp to the three so that I could give myself some manner of shade, though low, and keeping my raft together as well as repairing it when the storm came and the few times the beasts of the darkness under pushed up against the raft and threatened to break it apart with their curiosity and (I hesitate to think) hunger.

To be truthful, it wasn't so much a raft as it was a side of the ship that had somehow remained apart from the rest of the wreckage. We had been in deep water then and it's not until now that I've come to allow my memories to assail me as to how we (the hen and myself) came to be stranded on the surface of the ocean.

It was the idea of Therese, that we were even on the voyage. Her adventurous spirit could not be denied and I, well, I was a foreigner. Despite my wealth, I was considered by many to be nothing more than a savage due to the color of my skin and the shape of my eyes. We had found a small and carefully selected salon wherein many of the minds were more interested in my words than in my accent. Yet even there, poison had seeped in through the woodwork and I was hatefully treated in the sweetest and most subtle of ways. And many of them I haven't any idea on how best to describe them. I liked to believe then, that it was simply my imaginings. For hadn't all before hated me? So why should it be that I would not see the respect and caring shown me even there with the hint of the hatred that I had known ever since I had entered this country? And perhaps at first, it was only imaginings, yet I must think that it could not have been. For when the first time passed in which I entered with the arm of my sweet Therese curled so trustingly in my own, I saw a sudden change come over those faces I had thought I knew and loved.

How can I even think it? But I must. That there was something to that hatred which disliked me for my light sea skin and my clear hair, for the shining blue sun-roundness of my eye, which led to the destruction of our voyage? We were in deep water, carrying no powders or dangerous substances. What was it that might have exploded in such a way to have destroyed our entire ship, thrown me and many others clear, and taken from me the one human being I felt an affinity and respect for that transcended the care I had for all other human kind?

Ah, but such speculations bring me to naught. What evidence I may have had, has sunk to the depths of her grave.

I tried as I could to take from me the manners of my people. I wore my hair short instead of tied back as was the custom. Nor did I braid it as our higher ranking men may choose to do. I cut it short to show that I was like them, even as my father cried it was fit but for slaves to wear hair so closely cropped to one's skull. Why, there was nothing to draw back to the nape of my neck to show my own that I had always been free borne. I also forsook the clothing of my people, leaving behind the wind swept robes and loosely fit pants, billowing sleeves, and easy sashes for the suits and waist coats and lace up shoes they so enjoyed, even though I felt stifled in them and my feet could not sense the ground through the hard, unforgiving soles and my body sweat in linen and itched in wool.

I could have, of course, done something for my hair, dyeing it with root dyes and done the same to my skin by swallowing the Calla bark my mother used to keep her fair skin from burning in the sun. Still, there was nothing I could do for the color of my eyes and using this as excuse, I chose in my pride, to remain as I was. I wonder now, had I done even so little, leaving only my eyes as the tale tellers for my true race, would I have been forgiven for taking the heart of she whom all of New Hartlin desired after? Or would it have been the same? I plague myself even now with doubts like this and never do they bring respite.

For no matter my actions of then, I had done the reprehensible. I left her, mid evening, laying in our bed, to breathe the air on the deck. There, walking with the sea winds in my hair, I stopped a moment to converse with a Hartlin captain, his dark eyes and even darker skin mingling with the evening skies until he was but a blurring to attempt to focus eyesight upon. He had known many of the sea-folk and he laughed long and hard at me the times we spoke, finding my childish attempts to mingle with his people a subject of great humor. But then, he'd called his own people a "stupid and sluggish folk" with a penchant for grasping honor where there was none. Had he known then, what a dangerous endeavor he was taking on, in granting me passage to my islands with my newly wedded wife?

I have the image locked to my mind's eye. For there, the last of the sun broke from the clouds as it descended, and a flash of red cut a swathe across the tops of the ocean waves. I shivered then, for fear of what this portend could mean. The captain, perhaps sensing along with me, the workings of forces we could not control, for the sea is a mistress both changeable in her lovers and harsh in ousting those she loves no longer from the warmth of her bed, turned his head to gaze at me. There, just for that moment, with the red of the light touching his cheeks and the beautiful plane of his brow, disregarding the loose clothing of my own people upon his person even though they were light colored and should have drawn the color more than the night flush of his skin, he had the aura of a man of destiny. Though I feared a destiny which would never be fulfilled in this world.

It was then, with the light there beyond him, blinding my eyes to everything but some light lancing through his pupils to dance golden upon the other side of his lens, that the explosion came from aft deck. The ship tore apart underneath me and the blast threw he and I from the poop deck toward the now black waters, bereft of the touch of sunken sun.

I know that I must have hit the water far too hard, for I could not breathe and I lost my way, having been too long gone from the sea to know my way any longer in her embrace. She was an unknown bed to me and I let her take me, thinking that I would be with my Therese soon. Her Lady and my Weaver were at odds and I gave Him up to follow her Mistress, so that I might be more with her soul at the parting of our ways from the earth's domain. And did not the Lady promise that in her arms we would find rest? We would discover new lands, deeper and further from our own, closer to her heart.

Oh cruel fate! To have taken from me such faith! For there is no longer the clarity to my thinking and I do not believe any longer that Therese waits for me. She must know I could not forever abandon my Weaver. Not when faced with such adversity as it was to live on without her.

I think I must have cursed the hand of the captain who drug me from the inky depths, forcing my face to the air. How he found my hair and knew to draw up, knowing as he must, that a drowning man may very well have drowned him as well, I cannot tell, nor can he. For in the day and a half of floating, his strength gave out. He had come to the waters with a wound to his leg that we tied off to keep blood from spilling the secret of our being there to the rest of the ocean. But he lost the feeling of his leg soon after and neither of us dared unbind it, knowing it was better to lose a leg than to lose a life. His life he lost despite it all. No matter his floating, he could not keep his lungs full as our children are taught from birth and onward, and his aged body succumbed to the waves during the second evening. He was breathing once and the next pass of cloud over the moon, he ceased and I could not find him. I prayed to the Lady that he would find her roads and be led to peace.

That afternoon I found the first of the three barrels. I do not doubt my fortune was destined. Though I know not what the destiny could have been. Yet a few hours later, a piece of the ship came to my view on the top of a swell and upon it rode the hen, where next to it, keeping to it's side as flotsam will, the second and third barrels, one very low in the water.

This third I had hoped would carry fresh water, and was saddened but not downtrodden to find it had instead, carpentry tools, iron nails, tarp, rope, and other such things that could be needful on a ship which was often times it's sole manufacturer of fixes in the midst of the ocean's vastness. Should a mast break, there could be no new timbers to cut, so timbers were loaded upon it. And if not that? then lashings and iron braces might do in a pinch. Other such needs gave rise to this barrel being precious. Yet what good did it do to her, with her sunk to the bottom of the ocean?

I considered eating the bird. But she reminded me of a rooster I think I partook of as a child and had felt particularly sorrowful over. Therefore I left her be and allowed her to eat the biscuits and at times, some pork if she showed signs of great hunger. I did not touch the meat, fearing raving might come upon me.

I do not know, again, how long we drifted. I think it might have been five days with only dew caught on the tarp early in the morning to slack our thirst (for I gave a small portion to the hen - mindful as the days passed that with her death I would be truly alone). On the fourth day clouds gathered yet the air remained muggy. I feared then, knowing the sign of a storm to come and using the rope, lashed the planks of our raft together as well as the barrels to the top. Closing up the barrels, I folded up the tarp and kept it atop the pork, closing this as well, leaving on the hammer, tied securely to the outside as well as a rope upon my own person as well as a tie upon that of the hen's leg. It was two days yet for the storm to break, but I spent much of that double checking the knots I had made with all the skill I was born to.

The storm lasted for I am not sure how long. I could not thank the Lady for saving me, for we know she is tied to the sea. I cursed her then, hating her and her stealing my chances to be with Therese upon her eternal road. I had been ignorant then. For she was not giving and loving as our Weaver was. He who would take any soul to His heart, even those so long past forgiveness, no matter their skin, their upbringing, their deeds. No, the Lady demanded only her own, for she was selective and thus, she kept me from being with the woman I loved more than my own blood's flow in these solemn veins of mine. But there, the waves buffeted myself and the bird about. I clung to her and to the ropes that held us, trying to keep from drowning in the crashing over us. I had kept the ropes long of a purpose, in case the raft were capsized. Yet our small, unworthy craft, by direct will of the Weaver, remained upright, though was much affected when the wildest of winds died down.

It was then, while it remained in rain, that I had to uncramp my muscles and do what I had planned. I feared for a time, that I would not have the ability to undo my own knots, nor get the barrel open before the rain ceased. Yet this I managed by some grace of mercy and spread out our tarp, connecting it at the corners through the ropes looped to the edges of the barrels and the one half plank I had rigged up to make a fourth corner and had as well, weathered the storm, though broken in half it was. Then I found the can in which I had discovered some maple bars, now kept in waxed paper with the biscuits. This I had kept our dew in, that which I collected over night, and placing this in the middle of the raft, held the small hole at the center of the tarp I had made many days before, over the can and watched in glee as it filled itself.  
  
The rain lasted through two eventides and in that time, I found every empty container I thought might hold water and filled it. I may have managed four gallons by the end, though I do not know and do not wish to ask my captors to see the vessels I kept my water in. I am sure that they have all been thrown away by now, finding nothing on my raft of any worth but for myself and the hen (and I did not seem to have much worth by that time, for the hen was the only thing they were certain of keeping). The rest I am certain were left to remain on the surface of the sea, behind in their wake.

It was the only rain we had, the two of us. But due to it and the biscuits, I had an egg each morning, but for the one day a wave knocked it off of our raft and into the water. I did not begrudge her the pork then. For the eggs kept me in health for far longer than I should have been.

I was brown as a nut tree and thinner than a sapling when the boat scraped violently up against the side of the raft. I could dimly hear shouts and then a distant wishhh of rope, ending in a smack against the planks. The hen made no sound and I wonder if she has made a sound since our voyage. I hope that her being a hen has kept her from their table. For her eggs were something of which to take joy in on a long voyage. Even if it were but one. She was the first they captured and I know I felt her wing flapping against my face as one of them swept her up and into the crook of his arm. Then with much shouting, she and the man were pulled back on board. My silent companion, her voice lost to the waves as my life seemed to be. I could not move when a toe nudged my side and I could not smell, but knew the foul scent of unbathed skin to be everywhere as a shadow covered me and a hand checked at my neck and breast for the pulse of living waters in my body.

"Still alive, Cap'n. But barely, ser."

"Well, what think you, mate? Is the creature of worth? Does it have reason to come aboard?"

To wonder now, as one who is not of the sea might, why they would treat me so callously is something I can now understand. I have been to New Hartlin and I know the thoughts that govern men in those lands. But this was not the foggy green hills and mountains of the lands to the west. This was the searing blue of my world and in it, to give up supplies, water and food, to save a dying man, is a worthless venture and best left to those with kinder hearts. If a body has not value of either hard work or later coinage from sale as a slave, then there is little reason to take it along with one to anywhere, even if this means to save a life. For one life saved may mean two of your men dead due to lack of water from hitting a calm too far out to sea and too far from a renewal source.

I do not know if I made noise. The heavy hand had the heat which I think tore at where my skin was blistering off of my shoulders for it was only pain upon pain and I do not know that I was aware of anything but pain by then. It had been years since I had been in amongst my own, and even longer still since I had been under the glare of the ocean's sun, for I was of a higher station and did not need to go out upon the waves to make my living. Yet despite my lack of response, hands lifted me and what words were spoken about my being and what cause I would keep to be allowed to live, were lost to my unconsciousness.

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When I woke, the dimness told me I was under cover, as well as the pattering of rain on the hull and deck above me. I knew these sounds as I knew the very sea under my bones and I think I might have sighed as I tried to roll over. The pain of moving, however, broke any sound and turned it into a painful gasp. At the sound, a figure stood from the edge of the room, still very much in shadow, and left through the door. I know no more of my watcher, but that his shoulders filled the door frame and he was a slave for his hair was shortly cropped to the base of his skull, longer than mine had even been.  
  
I lay there a while, listening to the breathing in my lungs and wondering at how I found myself to be alive, when the door opened once more and a man far more broad though slimmer in the hips, stalked within. His violet eyes aflame, a braid as long as his thighs snaking behind him like a whip. I feared him at once, for in his eyes was the passion of the most renowned of the sea. He lived for his mistress and she fed him his daily oats. It showed in the fierce proud walk so alike to those horses my father kept for his pleasure at seeing them strut across his white graveled courtyard. I heard from afar, the whimper of terror in my throat and saw in great horror that this only brought to his face a smile both lecherous and vicious. He would have no mercy on me.

Surprised then, when he traced my bangs from my face and looked searchingly into my eyes before laughing, I stared at him in loss. "So, they have filled your mind with nonsense about us, have they? Your own people. Or perhaps you were sold so young and had a harsh trainer before?" he was questioning me and I could not answer, too afraid what he might do to me. I had never lied prior to now. How could I tell him I was no slave? To be a slave in appearance and to demand the rights of the high born, would only push me into the ocean once again. A slave with such affectations is of no use to anyone, too proud to do their work, and too dull to know their place.

"Ah, but I see you have a tongue and I've heard you make sound with that pretty throat of yours. So I know you have ability to speak, young ser. You will, perhaps be more able after some drink and food and after your skin has been tended more completely to. I will see you when you are well again." And taking the scent of salt spray with him, leaving behind an elusive scent of lavender and lemon behind him, he was gone just as quickly as he had come.

If I had had questions, I had no time to think on them, for soon after another came to me. This one, a slave as well, smaller than the captain in both breadth and height, his dark skin one that is natural and his eye shape one of the far southern reaches where dragons and the like are purported to live still. Yet not all southerner, nor free born it seemed. For his hair was short as well and he wore the bracelets of being the first slave in a conclave. Nor was he fully southern, he had not the dark eyes of they. Instead, his gaze was an electric blue, so deep that the ocean herself could not compare. And the gaze he affected toward me was colder than the icy lands even deeper south than those from which he'd come. Still, what had he to fear? He tended my wounds, those which had pustules on my face from razing my face upon the planking, the blistered burns upon my back and shoulders, and the great split down the side of my leg that I did not remember but brought about some thought of great pain, and was still brought to blood when he pressed on it, unmindful of my choking screams. And as he tended me, I saw many a time when his motions left open his vest, upon his defined chest, the brand of an owner. Not many brand their slaves. Yet it could be done. It was something higher, in the world of the Sea-folk. This branding did not mean ownership, per se. Not as it does to the eyes of those to the west. No, this was a binding arrangement between owner and slave, wherein the slave has subjected him or herself solely to the one owner and agreed to take on the mark. It is an eternity oath. Some take it on as soldiers to their lord. As a pledge of loyalty. Some take it as a desire to never leave the house of one, so that they may be with their family. There have been entire families pledged thus to their owners, children all the way to grandparents. Though it is rare to see it on any child under the age of sixteen full season turnings. And the last, though most rare, is that of one slave to one owner. And many a time, in such cases, the owner turns from all of his own rank, and keeps to that one slave as consort for the rest of both of their lives. This mark has an additional diagonal slash across the bottom left hand corner, leading to the center of the breast to show that it is only in effect so long as their owner is living. At which time, freedom is granted. It is a dangerous mark to give any slave whom one does not trust implicitly with one's life, for obvious reasons. And it was this mark which the slave tending me had upon his person. I did not wonder but knew in my heart, that the mark belonged to the captain who had come in looking at me with such a hot gaze.  
  
So perhaps then, there was cause for his coldness. It pained me though, to see his plight. To be bound to such a man, who might make his way through the ranks of slaves, taking his pleasure as he wished, yet to never be able to find love one's self.

Still, despite the hatred he must have felt for me he cared for me. For even then, wounded as I was, I knew that I was a beauty, as I had always been, slender as a boy, yet long in limb and with an aged look to my more clearly blue eyes. I had hair which was loved on the islands. A gold of the afternoon sun during autumn harvest. It was called Yoedian Arl, or the Golden Harvest, and was considered good luck. For though many of my people had brown or golden brown hair, few had hair of such a color to be decreed good fortune. Had I been born a slave, I would have been asked at a young age to take the brand upon my breast. So that none other could have me. It must have seemed a miraculous find then, that I had no mark upon my body. Not even a house tattoo upon my heel as so many do, easily made, easily rubbed out and replaced. No matter the wonder of it, though. I came to them in New Hartlin clothing. And the westerners did not like so much to have marks upon their chattel. It had the added bonus of giving the captain no place upon which he could (or had to, considering the laws of keeping and selling mankind) return me to. I was homeless and valuable to no end. I suppose then, that was why he had kept me.

We spoke little during the five days he tended me. Or rather, he answered me little, though I tried many a time to entice him into conversation. Everything from the weather to the placement of the stars to where was our next port. I never asked of the captain however, nor why I was kept in a private cabin. Nor did I ask of the figure which I would find in my room late at night at times, watching over me as I slept, broad of shoulder and tall, and whom would always leave when sensing I was awake. Leaving nothing behind, no scent, no trace of his self. Nothing but the clean incoming rush of sea air before the door was closed behind him.

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[Chapter Two] : Forthcoming (sorry!!!! Sick thing is kicking my hiney good)

- Meeting the first mate as well as what does Capt. Maxwell have in mind for his new Yoedian Arl? And how will Heero react? (And how will Quatre survive Heero's reaction? Hee hee) And who the heck is watching over him at night? Grrrrrr.

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(PS: heh heh ; Forgive any tense errors or grammatical errors. I've not gotten the patience thing down, nor the time to sit and consider it, to go to the beta reader system yet. I may never get around to it (or a round tuit, either for that matter) so if grammar just kills you, then feel free to burst out in comments. I can only learn more fully from what you all say. ) 


	2. Wakening

((_World of Four Corners and all that jazz. An especially long "one shot" heh heh. I seem to have a bad habit of not sticking to what I said I would do. Grah! I am going to blame it on sickness at the moment. when I'm well, I'll try and sort out how I got into such a mess. _

_Feel free to review it, eh? I think my muse thrives on reviews. _

_]::[ denotes flash back. Hee!_

_[] [] denotes scene change, break in time, etc._

_(fic is done in first person - POV Quatre_))

I think I might have slept longer that last day of my internment and betterment, however one wishes to call it, had it not been for the screaming. It was the screaming which woke me. So haunted a sound, as if the gates of hell had opened and thrust upon us, the despair of sin and the loss of time. I woke suddenly, so suddenly that I sat up without taking note of the pain, for my body was aflame with fear brought on by the screams. They wrenched my heart from my body and left me cold, shuddering with both tears and with terror.

I think I must have gasped, or perhaps cried out. But it was nothing and it was swallowed into the great expanse of those shouts which danced along the deck. Yet despite the volume, there was nothing in response. No pounding of feet upon the deck, no calling out in alarums. Nothing, just the screams.

My throat hurt but I could not call out for fear that this was what suited itself to be called normal, upon this ship. Had I seen any beyond the captain who was not slave yet? Did I know what guided these men? The principles of their service? The uncertainty of my situation rose in my throat like a long forgotten sob, breaking apart as it left my lips, falling into a harsh bark, broken apart by the silence now.

If the screams had been bad, the silence was more so. I think I may have lay back down but for my fear that I was not, nor could I be, safe on a cursed journey such as this. Was that scream another life taken for mine had been plucked? Which slave was it? The one who left every night, the blue eyed creature which had tended me, dumb to anything but his own fury at being replaced, despite his promises?

Tucking my arms around my waist, I attempted to stand then, the decking under my feet cool and renewing to my senses. I could feel the wood on my bare soles, therefore I was at least, awake and not dreaming something fearful. I felt afraid to move, yet some driven curiosity pressed me upwards, wanting to seek out answer to my terrors.

I had not walked more than a half shuffled step when there was a soft rustle in the dark. Instantly aware, I shuddered and drew back. But all I managed was a croaked, "You're here.." He was always here, how could I have forgotten? "Is someone dead?" I turned toward where he so often sat, but there was no light in this berth and there flowed no light from a moonless sky outside the porthole. "Please, I must know. Someone is .. no, was screaming. Just a moment ago. Is it my imagination? There is so much pain."

How he found me in the dark I cannot say, but he was beside me before I finished my half broken plea and his hands were gentle on my shoulders. He said nothing to me yet there was an easing by that touch. I may have begun to cry, but I know not if I had been doing so all the while or if it had just begun, only that my cheeks were wet when his fingers blindly found the skin there.

He traced the tracks, his fingertips breaking through the lines they'd traced, following them to my jawline and leaving behind warmth. Then with a sigh, so deep in his chest that it broke my heart, his breath touched my skin and I could smell him. He smelled of the sea and of some distant flowery scent that was almost like death, but too pure, so it had to be living. I breathed in his breath as if it would save me, and found to my surprise, that it did indeed, calm my beating pulse. There was not the scent of mankind on his skin and I wondered at it, but not for long. For cool lips pressed to mine, so cool I thought that perhaps it was death which had visited itself upon me and that I was soon for the grave which my darling wife had so recently gone to.

I may have made a gasp, for he plundered the inner recesses of my mouth before I had knowledge of it. And if he had been cool at the lips, he was hot within. I reached up, my hands trying to find his shoulders, to push him away, but he was merely a mass of fabrics and leather, it was impossible to distinguish where limbs began or ended, but I knew the broad plane of his chest through the tatters against my own and I moaned as I found myself relinquish any power I had over my own actions.

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The morning sun woke me that morning, coming through the small port window. I reached up, touching my lips, aware that they burned with a memory that I could just barely recall. Some horror and something delicious dancing behind my skull, waiting only on the correct key to open them. But things were hazy here, with the sunshine making the real world clear for me. I could not say any longer what was when or how or who.

The captain came to see me that day. He was as frightening as he had been the first time, entering as he did in his red doublet and golden shining brass buttons. His violet eyes raked over my half starved body and the slave at my side looked up with what I could sense was a feeling of abject misery. Those prussian depths searching out the violet and not being met, abandoned to the chill of loneliness.

"Well then, my little one," the captain purred as he took the chair vacated by the slave. He had a lechery hanging about him like a stench. His appetite was for blondes today, though it may have been for raven hair or auburn only a day before. "Have you found your tongue? I've been told you speak, so will you speak to me?"

"I - I know not what to say..." I stammered and then, in a panic as I remembered the place I was to be harboring, added quickly, "M'lord."

"Ahh... like a bell.." and something pleased him in my voice for he leaned forward and brushed his finger along my lower lip. "Well said, little one. What think you of my ship?"

"M'lord, I have not seen it, but for this room.. I'm sorry, m'lord.." I was unable to decide how to respond, but my every nerve strained for me to lash out at such presumptions upon my person.

He laughed, then with a cocky grin, shrugged. "It is enough. I would have you never see any other room but this one, if it were up to me. Seeing as this is my own personal quarters.." he allowed that to sink in and his grin widened to a devilish appearance at the panic that must have shown upon my face. "Ah, no pleasure given you it seems. Were they rough with you, my little golden bell? Or did they leave you untouched yet? Afraid of the touch of madness brought by taking to bed one of the Sea Folk's luck?"

Unsure of what to say, I merely stared at him, mute in body and in brain. He thought I had been a slave for pleasure? But then of course. I was dressed well. Or had been, with gold rings upon my fingers and a necklace which I wore still about my neck of amber and silver. I perhaps looked the part of a courtesan for New Hartlin. Respectable, but for the race I carried in my skin, the too pale skin.

"Ah, and none of this m'lord business," he added with a casual wave of his hand. "Yer kin call me Ser as all the rest of'em do, mind?" he leaned in that time and chucked me under the chin, though the gesture turned to a caress. "Still, as we can't have a new love where there is still an old, you'll have to remain in the babe's book."

Now the babe's book, unlike the captain's quarters or that of the crew, was a place for the harem of any lords, ladies, or the captain himself, to remain. This might include a single slave as the branded one, bound one to one with a master. Or it could be an entire family that took passage with their master. The idea was that there was no room for slaves to remain with their masters unless they are invited to do so and that neither could they remain with the crew or the passengers as freemen. Therefore, a special holding was put in for them near the galley most often. I knew not who would be there, other than I hoped the slave who I'd seen every evening might be there. Of course, had he been crew, slave or no, he'd be with the crew. There was little distinction between slave and freeman when on the waves and turning the sails and manning the rigging. So I was not surprised and only nodded. "Yes ser. Of course, ser."

He smiled then, widely and I think it might have been a smile more beautiful than any I'd ever seen, had there not been the dangerous glint in the back of his eyes. "Very well. Now, as you know, I must ask. Are you bound to any?"

Bound. Ah, I had been bound to my darling Therese. But no. I shook my head. No longer was I bound. I was free to walk the earth once more. "All died on our ship, I am sure of it," and then for fear of a misstep, added, "ser."

"All but you. I wonder at that. But you haven't mark to show your intentions as my Heero may have had, were he found floating the sea.." he glanced then to the dark haired boy back of the cabin and the flash of danger in his eyes flared to an inferno of hatred, torment, and despair that left me breathless. What _was _the curse that held this man and his crew so completely? Had he been the one screaming the midnight hour before? He turned that gaze to me and I shrank back in fear of it. Then his face softened to its regular disdain and he mocked me with another of his smiles, smiles which did not meet with his eyes. "So then, all dead and you still alive, but barely. Heero will take you to the babe's book and you'll stay there until you're fit enough. Then we shall see what skills you have. Manned a boat before, have you? Ever?"

"No ser," I had to admit and looked down. "I.. I did merely scripting, ser. And managing of houses.." for it was true, this was the life of many nobility. Yet there were enough slaves too who were needed in helping for it, so it seemed a fit occupation to give myself and I needn't lie about myself either.

"Ah, so a silver handed one, let me see your fingers.." and without waiting, he took my hands in his, roughly enough to almost wrench my arms from my sockets. Would this man take me for a lover I would have bruises I was certain of it. He opened my fingers and stared down at the soft pads and with a derisive snort, let me snatch them back again and hold them to my breast bone. "Worthless hands they are. But we'll make them of good strength soon enough. When you are well enough, you will begin by cleaning the galley. You will follow orders by any on board, except for the slave who attends you. And this includes all others. They work their way as will you. And when time is right, you will be moved to the crew bunker. Unless you would prefer a different arrangement?" I swear that he may have become a great cat as I'd seen of the upper north then, prowling toward me, his eyes as hungry as the tongue that snaked out and wet his red lips. I knew what he spoke of and pulled away in fright. "You think the galley would be easier?" he laughed a short bark then.

"I.. I do not think so, ser. But... but I'm not taken up with such things, ser. I'm sorry, ser. I'd rather the hard work and I will not disappoint, ser." I feared him, his touch. I feared the hatred I saw burning in his eyes as he spoke of his pleasure. I was certain it would not be a kind thing to undergo and felt that by all means, I'd be safer in spirit and in body should I remain as far from him as I was able.

He sat back with a soft exhalation of breath and perhaps something like respect floated across his look, but if it were something like that, it was a fleeting song that died quickly. "No.." he answered harshly. "No, you won't. For if you do, you'll simply take on a new job. Ones who cannot do the lowest, more menial of tasks are but fish food or receptacles for pleasure. It is all they are fit for." And I could hear in his voice how neither held much more worth than the ground and water we floated over. I looked past him then, at the pale face of the slave who stood at the back of the cabin, his eyes down but face expressionless. How had he managed to show his lack of worth? He was tattooed, so that had to have meant something, had it not? I turned from him, but just as I did so, he raised his hand and brushed his finger across his lower lip and I noticed that on bringing his hand away, he had wiped off blood from his lower lip which he had bit into. So, no expression, but he was far from heartless, this doomed soul.

I merely nodded to the captain, with a low murmur of "yes, ser" before he stood and left, the slave beside the door not moving, not even flinching as his captain passed him. I stared at the southern boy and was unsure.

"Heero, that is your name is it?" I said it quietly, gently. He was a mystery that I wanted desperately to solve. He did not look at me, nor move for some time. Then in silence, he straightened and lifting bright, deeply blue eyes to me, gave me such a glare that I was certain the captain may have quailed himself had the full force of that look ever been directed toward him. "I.. I beg your pardon. It is just you have never spoke and I was so glad to hear you have a name.." my voice died. I looked away, still stammering and clutching at the cloth about me.

He clothed me that day. My skin was well accustomed to it now, the burn had mostly moved off of my skin though there were some patches where it had gone in deeply and we had to put a salve upon it to keep the senses deadened or they might make me cry out every move I had to make. I was given clothing that was almost too big for my emaciated body. I would fill them out soon enough though, I was certain.

When we emerged upon deck, my eyes burned from the sudden glare. It truly was darker and cooler below deck and my face protested the heat upon it's surface. I stumbled back and almost fell but for the strong arm of Heero's hand on my elbow. The slave was uncommonly strong. It only left more mystery to befuddle me. Why was it that the captain saw him as no more than a whore? Even with the binding tattoo on his breast?

I smiled at the back of Heero's head for he'd already begun to walk again, leaving me to stagger behind.  
  
Crossing the deck of that great ship was an adventure in and of itself. The deck was busier than ever I'd seen. But looking upwards, I could see why, for the fo'cstle was split along its length and sails showed themselves to be in tatters. That rain so many days before. It must have been the end of a great storm. And considering how a storm that could have done such damage to a ship, I realized that had they not plucked me out of the water, I would have drowned. Thus there was plenty of work in repairing and maintaining the deck.

I stopped suddenly, caught by the wicker cage at the edge of the poop deck. The hen. Was she in there? Did she sound out? Without thinking of what I was doing, I floundered my way across the fifteen feet separating myself and the cage and came to my knees before it, staring at the chickens and rooster within. Twelve of them... no.. thirteen. They were all greys and blacks and whites and browns. But the deep reddish color I longed for was missing to my sight. Ah.. they'd eaten her. Poor creature. She'd survived for so long. Not that she would have lived much longer. And had there been a choice between her life and mine, I might have thrown her to the sharks. But she still had been the only living companion I my trial and I felt a loss in my spirit at not finding her there.

A heavy foot upon the decking made me turn to look. There at my side was a large black boot, and following the length of leg upwards, I found myself looking into eyes as distant as the clouds, though the dark green of troubled waters, yet without even the emotion the ocean may hold in its angriest of moments. Here there was nothing. The one eye reflected the sky, serving to turn it a silver, while the other hid under a great dangle of hair for the man's forelock hung before him and had I not been looking upwards, I may have only been able to meet one eye.

My breath held, I stared, entranced. While the sea bound peoples are not against various genders, we have found that often we lean one direction or the other. Yet here, I found something that was beyond beautiful. His distance made it easier to regard him as such. As if he were a sculpture or a painting of a man, depicted against the horizon of sea and blue. Lapis under a wash of amethyst. He did not move and neither had I the ability to. Time had simply stood still. He was, frankly, something so distinctly beautiful in ways I couldn't begin to describe. He was wildness, feral power, the sea at rest and again in her power. He had about him an air of only the most established of sea men, as if he had saltwater for blood, could speak the fish into his nets, would read the winds and know the songs of the stars. Where the captain had pomp and pride, this man simply _was_. And as one sits watching the waves slam against the cliffs and wishes to be one with the birds dancing above it's surface, I wanted nothing more than to be near him and watch him in that moment.

I may have remained like that, staring into those far off eyes, sightless in a way, as if they could see me, but saw nothing, like one sees the air or the wind. But something brushed against me and I gasped, pulling back and away and losing my balance. Falling toward the chicken cage I made no sound other than the sharp scuttle of my heels on the deck, when a hand shot out and grasped my arm. He was bending over me, his hand tightly upon mine to where it later showed by way of a bruise, and his voice was low, almost a whisper, though very audible and I was split in two as if the words themselves were anvil and hammer. "One must have a care where he walks on this ship.." and I knew he was not speaking of my slip.  
  
He righted me and I looked to the side, finding in delight that it was the hen who had come up alongside me. She pecked at the ground near the cage and the green eyed man let me go then reached for her. His hands were long, slender, and strong. They shone brown under the sun and they smoothed her feathers before running under her croup and legs and lifting her. She flapped once, twice, then settled and stared at him with a curious eye, making a soft burbling noise of a hen in contentment. Then he lifted the cage top and placed her in.

"Tro?" the captain's direction came down and the man stood, one visible eye regarding his captain. "How goes the mast mending? Need we one of our poles?"  
  
The man at my said did not speak but his head shake was enough for the captain and the braided man turned, stumping back to other work, mainly consisting of shouting out orders at present and later it seemed, leaning over a map upon a table. As I watched the captain, a gentler, though far more iron hand reached and took my arm, lifting me effortlessly.

"Support him," came the tearing hoarse voice from back of me and I found that it was Heero holding me up. I was far more exhausted than I had thought and the sailor named Tro was right in that I needed the support. I leaned heavily on Heero's helping hand, yet could not help but watch the other man stalk away. He was wide as all of them were. His hair shorne. Was it he who had come to my room? But then no, for as I looked about I found that most of the men were short of hair. A ship of slaves? And many wore clothing far more tattered, though none as tattered as the man of sea salt and inhuman sweat that had visited me.

Heero aided me in walking to the back of the boat and there, through a door to the right of the crew's entrance. The babe's book.

It was lavish. I gasped upon entering. For a slave whom had nothing but the captains derision, this room held more beautiful things and more finery than any other room I'd ever seen on a ship. It rivaled rooms in my father's house, even. Velvet and gold, silver and paintings of oil, water color. Yet it was not garish. There was only enough, and more too, that showed serviceability. The room was not a lounging room, but one meant to be used. And beyond it, three other small cabins. I was led to one which was strangely plain after the main cabin. And there, I fell into a tick bedding covered with linen and wool and fell directly to sleep.

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I woke that night in the dark once more, though evening lights shone dimly enough for me to make out the doorway beyond. Enough to know that none were awake. Behind the wall by my right shoulder I could hear songs sung lightly, I must have been close to the crew's rooms there. And out in the main of the room a soft rustling, a scuffle.

Then a moan. I shot up. The curse again? Standing, I made my way to the bedroom door and let it open. In the main of the room there was two single candles lit, and by their light little was visible. Yet enough I could see. The gleam of skin, so pale that it gleamed, and the sweat upon it. At first I thought it was someone in pain, but a motion and the rhythm I quickly figured out my mistake. A soft gasp and a cry of pain and desire made my mouth go dry. I could not see them distinctly and the avenue of light on their bodies made it difficult to see. I wonder that I didn't close the door immediately as I should have. But no, I stood, frozen once more, at something that tainted the air with a tragedy that left my heart in shattered pieces on the floor of my soul. Why did it seem so sad? This tender, silent love making?

I noted then, the long snake of hair down the back of the more visible plane of skin and I must have made a soft sound. While the captain did not hear me, the light flashed in a pair of cobalt darkness and I saw the hatred and humiliation, could feel it coming at me in waves when Heero turned his head to stare at me. He held my gaze and I could not run, though I wanted desperately to do so. Then he blinked and inclined his head so that the candle beyond them could play favor to his profile and there, lifted up his mouth to attempt to steal a kiss from the man taking him. A sob broke from the captain and he raised his hand, crashing it across Heero's cheek and sending his slave's head back painfully.

I drew back with a wince. Whatever the interplay was here, I felt like I saw too much, felt too much. The door swung shut as if of it's own volition and I heard the lock turn slowly enough to not distract the lovers on the other side of the door.

Then I knew he was there. I could sense the sea around me and it washed into the pain that had flooded into my from the other room. I sobbed in relief and fell against him, not knowing why, but sensing that here, for this moment, I might forget. His cool lips taking mine, his fingers like brands, running lines down the muscle of my neck, thumbs kneading my jawline and into my hair. He was tender as the waves are tender. And I shuddered as I tasted him, as if he were something far more clean, as if he had never tasted food, but ate the salt air and drank bird song. He was not human, my ocean borne lover and I did not notice until morning light, that the window had been open and that a small scrap of red satin, faded and caught on the small sill, almost too small to have allowed a human in, fluttered with the incoming breeze.

((_Well now, chapter two. I'm still somewhat in the dark, but they've decided to tell me a few of the ideas. Wufei is here, somewhere, but he's yet to put in his appearance. And I'm sorry to say I couldn't keep my promise of showing the first mate yet. Or introducing him. I have a few candidates vying for the position at present and they're not allowing me the choice. I'm sure they'll have it figured out by next chapter (gotta love the way the characters just run the show sometimes) And yes.. this has ceased being a one shot. [sigh] I'm such a liar. [snicker] I'll never underestimate the power of an idea again, I promise. Feel free to review it, eh? Am I harping? Augh! Just do. Or I'll be going under my own steam and I'm not sure I'm all that good at going under my own steam after a bit. And who he heck is screaming????? Oddly enough, I think I've got most of the story figured out. So things will be okay from here on out_!))


	3. The Southerner

((_World of Four Corners and all that jazz. An especially long "one shot." My apologies for the sloppiness of chapter two. When I've more energy, I'll fix it back up to match the rest of the story. _

_Feel free to review it, eh? I think my muse thrives on reviews._

_]::[ denotes flash back. Hee!_

_[] [] denotes scene change, break in time, etc._

_(fic is done in first person - POV Quatre)_

_Disclaimer: Don't own them, don't have one of my own or even a good clone! Injustice I tell you! _

_On with the show!))  
_

* * *

The lack of birds had led me to believe that we were somewhere in crossing between east and western continents. Sea going people had been allowed some trade posts on the western coastline, but for the most part, we had remained where we belonged, in the less developed, more free-minded (though westerners thought it heathen) east. I felt I had enough time to heal and then to learn my "trade," so to speak. It was, however, only the second day that I was in the babe's book, when the cook came for me.

I had not managed a word from Heero. I was confused as to his silence, for I plainly heard his voice late at night. How could I have slept through the wash of high emotion coming from the pair of them? Often it would interrupt my dreams, giving me nightmares and break my heart. I could not distinguish between the pair of them, which had the most guilt, which the most anger, which the most hatred. And yet, through it all was an almost terrifyingly stubborn love that seemed all the more tragic for being wrapped in the negative air of their love making. That love being the anchor which kept them in this cycle of hatred and fear. I know that Heero was beaten more than once, not just the mark on his face from that first night showed it. He winced when he thought I was not looking and I hadn't the strength to ask to see the wounds on his body. He hid the slender elvin strength under long pants and long sleeves, the vest he had worn that night of my illness had been replaced. I wondered then, if there had been something recently which had led to a greater violence than had been before. Was it my coming? Would my leaving the babe's book give him respite from it? And did he even desire it; did he want the broken forgiveness that came from his body being broken?

As well as this, so did the screaming at night continue. The lovers were always gone, parted with Heero asleep in his room while the captain dreamed across the deck, and their sleep was not audibly affected by the howls. I came to fear these times more than anything. Sometimes I was in luck and my sea scented lover would be there. Then I could hear the cries as if from a distance. But often he did not come until after they had silenced. Then, with a soft sound at my window and in the darkness which I could not see in, his arms would encircle me and I'd drown myself into his touch.

I was not a lover of men. I had had opportunity enough as a young man, but while I was not disgusted by such a common practice among my people, I realized early that my heart directed itself to the feminine persons about me and not the masculine. Still, the touch of my lover never seemed to revolt against this in me. He was not human and therefore, not bound by such rules. No - instead he held the sea in his body and when I fell into him, I fell into the embrace of the waves. In his arms, nothing could harm me. Not the pain of the lovers, not the terror of the screamings, not the curse that seemed so much stronger in the dark than in the light. In the arms of the Sea, I was free.

I could not remember past the night's first kiss on my lips. I know he did not take me, for never was I unclothed nor did I ache. Perhaps it was only that one kiss then, and then dreams. I do not know why I called him "lover" then. It simply seemed the correct name for him. Not once did he speak and never did I see him, yet I came to know his scent as I know the ocean herself. The particular flower and ocean salt of his skin, buried under the tatters of leather and fabric. And always, in that first kiss, I longed to find the sense of his flesh under my fingertips and would search. But it seemed he was nothing more than tatters, brand like fingertips on my own skin, and cold lips with a hot tongue.

I was given one more set of clothing to wash every week so I might change. I spent the first day cleaning the room of bed bugs and my own body of lice that I must have picked up from somewhere. I do not think I could have gotten them from the captain, he did not seem to be a man to accept such things on his person. So I am not sure where they may have come from. Sea water on the old boards and some clumsy cleaning done, I sat in the main quarters and watched Heero. He did not seem to serve any purpose really. Yet he would keep his hands busy nonetheless. At times I saw him mending nets or sails, he carved animals in antler bone I recognized as a rare type from the far eastern lands, coming from a miniature deer like creature found only on the high steppes. He darned socks and would work on copper braces as well as many other simple, hand like duties which any sailor should be capable of doing and which I was not. I asked once, only once, that he might teach me. The glare I was given was so cold I drew back and could not come out of my room until dinner.

Those two days were the longest I'd ever lived until that moment. The boredom was complete yet I dared not leave. I feared the captain more than I feared the silent chill of Heero.

When the door opened and the cook came to me, his being loud, brash, and harsh but ultimately human and untouched by the tragedy which hovered in those rooms, I was relieved to no end.

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"E'ah! Put er theah, will yer!" I deserved another kick from him as I missed again a place upon the floor and forgot to be quicker in taking the kettle off of the fire.

"Sorry, ser!" and I scrambled for the table, then ducked out of the way of another kick before returning to scrubbing.

"Shore.. sorri'e sez.. allis sorri.." and the man turned to his work, snorting and wiping his nose on his apron. He was a large man, greater than any I'd ever seen in width, though not in height. His name was, I suppose, "Cook" for that was what all called him. And if he had any other name I never knew it.

Those first days were painful lessons. I burned almost every fingertip in the galley fire. Not that I could tell the burns from the blisters on my hands from the scrubbing. I did it all, except for delivering foods to the captain, that was the cook's job. I even was responsible for ensuring that the men in the brig (we had three, initially) were fed and watered. Two of them were easy enough. They were down there as a reminder against drunken brawling and only there two days past my beginning.  
  
The other, however, was a far different story.

I still lived in the babe's book until I had proven myself, I was told, and shown myself to be worthy of being called crew. So I was not privy to the talk that might have cleared up his ailment. He had been below a very, long time, this I could tell. Perhaps almost the entire voyage. His skin was pale from lack of sun and his eyes pulled closed every time I opened the brig and descended.

The first time I came to him, he stunk and looked as if he had not had a bath in weeks. His feces, rank around his feet, burned his skin and I could tell the pain was insufferable. Yet he was kept standing, bound to the wall for his entire internment. I think he must have slept somehow in those chains, but I'm not certain how he managed.

It was the despair and hopelessness that reeked far worse than his scent and I feared him at first, going to the others and feeding them but leaving him til the last. He had to be fed by hand, food forced down his throat as the cook proceeded to show me, by opening his unwilling but weak jaws and pouring gruel and mashed meat paste down his gullet, then holding his mouth closed as he struggled against you to spit it back out. Half of it perhaps he ate, the rest escaped down his chin.

Unsure of how to proceed on the following day, I threw a pail of water over his body and using my scrub brush as gently as I was able, cleansed his body. With the waterlogged clothing clinging to him, he was but skin and bones and I feared that one day I would be not feeding a man, but carrying his body to the edge and throwing it overboard. The cook answered none of my questions and I asked only a few. A kick of two and I could ask nothing more. I had had enough of the bruises he gave me when I displeased him.

Thus, it came about that I met with the first mate. I did not know it at the time. And he was no longer the first mate, for Theo Matterus was now first mate in his stead. But he had been. And somehow, I was sure of it, he was involved in the great curse which held this ship. A curse, I believed, would keep us from port if it was not put to rest.

So, I talked to him. As I forced food down his throat. I spoke as I cleaned him though it was by my own crude methods. And as I dried him and as he was the only one down there, I talked to him during those few times I had to my own self. None came to the brig and it was quiet and safe.

"Well now," I laughed softly, coming down that sixth day, my arms full of the regular gruel and a piece of rough pork I had snitched from my own plate. It was warm though and I drew myself up to him. He never looked into my eyes, his own seemed blind, yet I knew they could not be. "And how are you? They were kind to me today. I only was kicked four times. I think I am getting better suited to this life, even though my fingers are still aching. Who would have known that such a simple thing as taking a pot off of a spit could burn one so easily? But I did, like I promised you, bring something more substantial. I am not sure if you can eat it, but you have teeth and they seem in good working order, so I think you might be able to." I smiled at him and he did not look at me.  
  
"I think, if I put it on your tongue, you can either chew it or simply swallow it. I'll bite it off into pieces for you, if you wish. I - "I hesitated at the spike of anger my simple suggestion had thrown sour into the air. "Ah.. I'm.. sorry. No, all of it then? You are right. You are not a child.."

He never spoke so I did not fear being found out as one who could read others so well, and he was not an idiot, yet he had none to talk to besides me and I prattled on. So I was shocked when his eyes sought mine then and his brow furrowed. Mouth opening slowly he tasted his lips as one does when preparing a life changing speech. His breathing rose and I held mine, eyes wide on his.

Silence. Why did regret wash over me like that? I sighed and picked up the bowl. "I'm sorry, maybe I read too much into it. I will give it to you as soon as we finish the bowl. Will you help today or must I force you again?" I could not help but look at him and have tears in my eyes. What pain! And he stared at me now and his own gaze was as cold as Heero's, as feral as the captain's.

Feeding that day was harder than usual. Between my tears and his overly stubborn nature, more so that day than any other before, it took me a half of an hour before the bowl was empty and all that was left was the cold piece of pork. I was breathing heavily as I pulled open his mouth one last time and while his tongue feebly fought the intrusion of my fingers, thrust the meat in and stepped back.

I expected him to spit it out. I waited for it, wanting to pluck it from the ground so rats would not find it and him. Not that there were rats, but it was a thought nonetheless. He glared at me and then, suddenly, his sight turned inward.

He did not spit it out, but left it, cloying on his tongue. And I left him, unsure if he'd choke on it or eat it. But the next day, I brought more of my dinner. And I ate some of his gruel to make up for it. It was terrible stuff, yet he needed the food I was certain. I do not know why I felt so, but he had to have some decency done him, trussed as he was like nothing more than an animal. Or worse, a monster.

"It's warm still," I smiled at him and his eyes found mine and I sobbed inside from the hurt in that gaze. Why so much pain here? I wished for my lover then, that kiss of the sea which could cleanse me of the hurt I carried from these encounters. I surely would have gone mad without his attendance every evening. "If you will promise to not fight me on the gruel, I'll give you one piece now and the other after." I held my breath, he considered and stared.

Then, wonders, his slight nod. I let my breath out, not knowing I had held it and with a firm nod of my own, came forward and gave him the meat first. He made a soft groan, as if he were dying then and there and I feared for him. But he began to chew the food and on his face was something that was an excruciating joy borne of excruciating suffering. And when it came time to eat from the bowl, he took it all, not fighting me once. We finished with the other meat, cold, but still palatable.

Done so quickly, I stood at a loss and then sighed, leaning back against the wall. "I could go back up, but it's only been a few minutes. They would wonder why I fed you so quickly and would maybe think I had eaten it myself. I did eat some of it actually," I confessed to him and laughed in a soft, unobtrusive way at his disgust. "Yes, it was terrible. But the meat you ate was my dinner and I needed something, so I traded. Do you mind? I will trade you as long as I have this duty." My smile was careful but he did nothing in return so I nodded. "Okay then, it's a deal. You didn't scowl at me, so I'm taking that as a yes. Or maybe it's simply a do as you will, in which case, I'll continue to share my food with you."

Frowning, I looked down at the bowl and chewed on the inside of my lip. "I wonder... what it is they've thought you have done. Because I don't think you have. You don't... seem bad.." I glanced up at him in question and found him staring at me as if I were the monster and not he. Then the pain was back, wafting in on the air and surrounding us until I could hardly breathe and I had to struggle backwards, half stumbling over myself. I climbed out of there, gulping in air as I came free of the fog below. But not before I had seen his eyes shut tightly and a tear escape. The shame of that tear splashed into the rest and it was only an added burden. Ten times greater than the anger and the hatred, causing a rift of greater hopelessness.

As I sat on the deck, the empty bowl in my hands, gasping for air, I noticed eyes on me. Turning to look around, I found the sailor, the one who had caught my hen, staring at me. Though I could only see one of his eyes and from the distance it was dark, not green, still I knew that both of his eyes could see me. He stared long and then turned to his work, freeing me from the idiocy that a single look of his could put me into.

The next day went far more well, and I did not speak to the prisoner of his reasons for the chains for I had been beaten that day and did not have the strength to take on his pain when it filled the room. I could have fainted and I did not think could have been the best of moves on my part. But, by week's end, my beatings were but once every other day, and I averaged only one kick before lunch and only sometimes one after. Heero had ignored me every day I remained with him. The evening visits remained on all parts, both that of the captain and that of the Sea. I was sharing half of my dinner with the man below decks and I had learned his name. Wufei.. Wufei Chang. He was a Southerner as well and noble born I think, for his hair was too long to have been shorn even at the beginning of the voyage. He did not tell me this. Theo the first mate did. And he also let slide that he was the replacement and that Wufei was better off dead than what was in store for him upon reaching home port.

I also learned that home port was the far north-eastern island, a land named Ulica, and one island from my home. There was a possibility I might be recognized upon Ulica and returned home.

Tro, the other sailor, often was busy above decks and he, I saw often, though he rarely looked at me. I was given care of the chickens as well and this I enjoyed very much. Though it was in the line of sight of the captain and I was unsure if I liked that very much.

Some days after receiving the hen duty, I stopped a moment at the turn of the wind while finishing with spreading grain for the birds. Straightening, I stared out to the horizon, noting the dark clouds there. Storm. Close as well, by the way it looked.  
  
I was counting seconds at a flash of lightening when I focused my eyes and found a single green orb looking at me from not too far away. As was my custom, I froze and he frowned. His mouth moved, he was speaking, yet he never spoke very loud and I could not hear him, nor did I have wits to read what was on those lips.

I had spent every moment I had opportunity to, watching Tro. I learned nothing of him by the watching but that he was silent and he had an uncanny ability to man the rigging, climb to the crow's nest, and that he was always busy. Ah, yes - and that the men listened to him. Even Theo. It was as if he held them as spellbound as he held me. And now he was speaking to me, and I could not hear him. I rallied my mind around the movement of his mouth and focused hard.  
  
I think he might have said something like "Look away" or "Go away.." but I did not have time to ask. A hard hand clapped on my shoulder and I almost fell under it.  
  
"Well, cabin boy.." the sneer in that beautiful voice behind me left my knees shaking like water. The captain turned me to face him so he might look me over. His smile was the same predatory grin I knew well. "Time to earn your keep boy. If you are good, we'll let you keep to the crew. If not, then you and I have a different deal to make.." I shrank back, for the words fit him in a disjointed manner, laid upon him like spider legs, not settling right. It was this that made him so frightening. He might have been mad, perhaps, and this is what made him so horrible to me. But there were many madmen on this trip I had found.

"S-s-ser?" I stammered, staring up at him.

"Earn your keep, boy!" he laughed and jerked his head upwards. "Sails need taking in. Jib most importantly and first. Best be getting to it. Draw it up and tie it down.." He grinned and turning me again, slapped my back end in a way that made my blood run ice, and shoved me toward the rigging.

I had no idea how to do this. And by some miracle, I managed to climb to where I knew the fore sail or jib, to be. Another man was up there and he grunted angrily at me for taking up too much space. Still, it was a two man job and I watched him and the others in the other sails as they drew up the sails and tied them off. A pull of the right rope (finding the right rope) and then looping another around the sail while swinging legs on either side of the arm.

I struggled but the sailor did his half and directed me to finish mine. It was, he said, the way of things, for rope monkeys. And I must learn it.

So I did. I worked hard upon them. The last gave me the most trouble. I had begun from the outside and worked inward and by this time, had a bunching in the sail I think I might have not had if I'd begun from the center. I could not seem to get it folded correctly so that I might get the rope about it.

Leaning over on my stomach, I had the rope about it and had almost looped it but lost it. Then in a fit of upset and frustration, I looped my leg to one side and leaned dangerously far to the right, so that I leaned half on the cupped sail.

The storm came on us then. It was a ton of weight slamming into the sail and pitching me off, into space, leaving sail and rigging behind.

I would have fallen to my death no doubt, but that I was flung backwards and hit the next run of ropes. My body twisted and I fell, one leg caught in and some rope knotted around my neck. I worked at the rope while hooking my elbow in the edge of another guide rope so that I would not fall and strangle.  
  
I would have managed well enough, but for a slap in my face, hard enough to make me see stars. I feared the captain had come to beat me even as I lay struggling to free myself. But the clap of sail after showed me quickly enough that it was far worse. For some of the beginning ties I had done were simple knots and did not hold, but came loose and the half of the jib, with one other tie breaking, was kicked back and lashed at me with it's edge.

Fighting this way for a hold with the force of wind and the jib attacking my body was breaking me quickly. I screamed, looking down. Below me, the captain stood, his hand raised as he looked up, but there was no mercy on his face. This was my mistake and thus my fight. But it was a fight I was going to lose. I knew this and I think he did as well. He hated me then. He did not always hate me. But that moment, he hated me. And the hatred swam over my vision and I almost swooned.

Hands grasped me an hour, ten minutes, a moment later. I'm not sure how long I held on. The rain had begun cold and hard. I managed only to keep from falling and suspending myself by the neck on the rigging line. Hands grabbed my collar and hauled me up until my torso was caught under the arms along a rope.  
  
"Hold onto that.." an unfamiliar voice commanded in a way that I could do nothing but follow. Then hands worked at undoing knots and in a moment I was free. My savior had situated himself between me and the sail and was taking the hits of the full sail's end on his back. Then with a grunt I was dragged upwards and the voice gave me resolve once more. "We must get the jib up. Come with me."  
  
I followed the figure, my mind blind to it, not recognizing yet recognizing him, and crossing rigging, we were able to make it to the next line by using a small double tie rope between the pair, like a frightening bridge where one's feet are on one rope and one's hands are on the other. A sideways ladder with rungs too far apart to walk on, but close enough to keep the ropes from stretching so far from one another that using them in tandem would be impossible.

Upon the jib, we caught a line and I was handed rope at the center. "Fold it this way!" came the call and I watched his hands and followed the direction. I think I realized then, seeing through the rain the whipping dark hair, that my savior was my roommate as well. The man of the babe's book commanded me in a stern but calm voice; I felt safe even though were did this in the midst of a gale. Below us, when I chanced to look, the other men were moving quickly around. Battening down hatches and covering the coop, lashing down barrels and free cargo. Some manned ropes while the captain was working with Theo at the wheel.

I learned the ties then, and I learned the folds, for he would not let me do it wrong, but instructed me at every action. He noticed when my hands became too cold and taught me to put them in my arm pits to warm them. And he also touched my arm and gave me a look when my strength was gone, and I knew I'd be okay.

When we came down, he was close enough that had I fallen, he'd have caught me easily. And touching the deck of the ship, I collapsed, only to be gathered in arms and carried out of the rain.

"Put him in his room," was that soft command and I looked out of the comforting arms to watch Heero lean against a chair and slide to a seated position on it, his head falling into his hands Then I glanced up and found with a sudden thrill, that it was the green eyed sailor. The one I watched so often.

"And Trowa," came the soft, calm voice from the main room as he had almost carried me into my room. "Come back out. We must talk."

Trowa, a full name this time? aided me in getting out of my wet clothes and laid me down into bed. He touched my shoulder and I curled around his forearm, afraid to be left even then.

Sitting beside me, he smoothed my hair and smiled in a way that I thought had to be rare, so rare that perhaps it was even made up on the spot. And his voice, soft as the whisper yet more clear than I'd ever heard it, eased me. "You must dry. He will be coming for you soon. And then you must be ready to work. No one is free for sleep on a night like this. No one is ever free."  
  
And then he was gone.

And I was left with questions. Heero, the one who had no duties, was not seen as anything but a whore for the captain, had shown himself to be far more capable than most. And yet he was relegated to this beautiful cage. Why? And the mystery of that green eyed man. Speaking to me as he did. He seemed to know the inner rooms of the cursed voyage and he said nothing. Was I the only one who knew nothing? And Heero! He knew Trowa, yet I had never seen them speak.

I did not fall asleep that night. Nor did I hear screams for I was in the midst of the gale too many times, coming in only to dry myself and warm myself. And I was not visited by the calming Sea, for the raging ocean was at her best and my window was closed. Heero remained in his rooms and the rest of us worked when we were not before the galley fire, our coats steaming off the water that had wicked out of the wool, cups of hot ale in our hands, warming our palms. And the storm continued on for the night and half the next day before she left us. With it's leaving, many of us crawled back into our bed and I dreamt of sea water and hot fingertips. But they did not cleanse me for they were only dreams and not reality.

* * *

((_Earth Gurl: [S] I love you, you know that? I'm glad you're enjoying it. Tex isn't so mad at me because I'm making them all writhe. He says he can't feel sorry for them until they've been through what HE's been through (and I don't think that's very likely) so he's going to just have to get chubby on popcorn. Hee hee. I hope you continue to like it! _

_Joyce: Yeah? [lol] I figured that might put some people off. It is very word-heavy. Unfortunately, Quat is sort of an aristocrat so he'll do a lot of posture talking until we move him out of that. (If I ever can!) BUT I promise MUCH more action is coming, so I hope it gets more interesting to you! I'm having a blast with this one. Glad someone else is enjoying it too. _

_Raftergurl: [S Well, I'm still working on the craft, so as you're far more experienced, I'm sure you'll figure it out and let me know. I can't wait to hear your ideas on what I can do differently or better!]_

_Okay! Next up! -hopefully that is- We'll begin to hear about the story behind Heero and his being in the babe's book and why. He he he.))_


	4. Tale Bearing

((_And here we have the next chapter. Hope you all are finding this as exciting as I am! _

_Ajedrez: Yes, the first chapter is a doozy. It's not the easiest thing to get through. I hope though, that it gets better from here on out. I'm glad you're interested!_

_Rafter: Thank you! I'm sure there are other things I've done that had much more depth to them, but this is too much fun to drop! Hee hee. Keep up the constructive criticism! It's very appreciated._))

]::[ denotes flash back.  
[] [] denotes scene change, break in time, etc.  
(fic is done in first person - POV Quatre)

* * *

Tale Bearing

The moon was out when I woke again. The storm long gone and my face both itched, burned, and ached.

Standing slowly from the bed, amazed at how incredibly sore my muscles proved to be, despite the weeks worth of hard galley work, I made it to the main room and there, by the light of the lantern, left banked but not dead, I inspected my face, where the sail had cut it and bruised it. Then my arms were looked over as well and I hissed at the blood when I cleansed it by way of a wash basin of fine mouse porcelain. But then, everything in these quarters was fine, grand.

A low moan slid from one of the bedrooms and fearing to interrupt I waited a moment, testing the air, so to speak. Finding nothing but pain, however, I ventured to open the door and look in.

This room was almost identical to mine. If it had any differences I could not see them. The same berth, the same linen and wool, the same plain chest for clothing. It only added to the confusion as to why such a lavish apartment for a babes book, yet the bedrooms were so plain.  
  
The movement on the bed brought my attention back to it. Heero lay back, his face dark in the shadow yet I saw the sheen of sweat upon his skin. His breathing came light, shallow, and I feared for what that might mean. I was but very young when one of our slaves was kicked by my father's steed. The lad had broken ribs, stove in his chest and we buried him a week later. His death was fantastic, gruesome - wherein he screamed against things that were not there, moaned softly, and struggled weakly for each up coming breath.

Kneeling by the bedside, I placed my hand on his shoulder, not drawing back at the heated burn of his skin. "Heero... Oh Heero.." I sighed softly as I stood and went to get the basin. I feared, strangely, for his illness. That it might mean something to the crew and that they might throw him into the water to rid themselves of disease, or perhaps that he may die of his own accord. Either way, I was left alone to the captain's strange madness. It is wrong what I thought, and I cannot condone myself of it. To me, Heero was all of what stood between myself and the madman.

The water basin was all but empty and there was a full rain barrel up topside, so I mounted the stairs and with the lilting song of waves and the helmsman, Theo, crossed the deck and pulled the top off of the barrel.

The wooden top stumbled across the top of the barrel and dropped to the side and I could feel Theo's eyes on me. It was a time consuming, day dreaming job at the til when nothing else was about and the water were so calm. I was surprised he hadn't just put a rope on the wheel and let the ship sail for a good hour before switching over and going back, criss crossing the ocean. Then again, maybe he'd wanted time to think that night. Plenty had happened the day and a half before.

I suppose I was caught in my own version of deep thought, so I did not hear the footsteps. Or it could have been that he was part cat and I had never heard his footsteps but for the times he wanted me to. So I couldn't help the squeak of pain as a hand grasped my shoulder and I was turned and shoved back against the barrel, painfully bent backwards, staring at the long chestnut rope which brushed my face.  
  
"Walkin' late..." he growled. And as much as I didn't want to look up, I could not help myself and I had to look at him. His violet eyes gleamed with something terrible, a feeling I could not discern from all the others.

"Y-yes ser.." I managed. Why was it that I could never speak? Me, the son of a nobleman, well versed in speech, could do nothing but stammer around him.

"And what, may I ask, are y'doin?" he peered at me, closer, I could smell him, something like vanilla and sea and old wood. It wasn't an unpleasant smell and I might have even enjoyed it, but for the way his glance devoured me.

"Sorry ser! Just gettin' water, ser!" my hands shook and his fingers were like daggers into my shoulders, piercing the skin.

"Hmm.." he purred the sound, looking down at the rain barrel and then in a musing tone, added, "We need to save what water we have. What use has the prettiest one of our crew for a new basin of water?" for he had, no doubt, noticed my using the wash basin.

"Oh no ser! Sorry ser! It's not for me!" I quickly asserted. "Heero is ill, s-s-ser.." The change that came over his face was like magic. Saying that word, that name, and the very truth of madness was all about him. I whimpered, trying to pull away, for I do not think he could see me then. Rather he stared beyond me, his mouth parting as if he were ill himself.

I think he may very well have broken me into pieces and strewn me across the deck had he had the chance. A soft clearing of the throat then and Theo, who had tied up the wheel, calmly reached up and covered the hand which had clenched like iron about my shoulder. "Ser, best be lookin' ter th'charts.." and all three of us knew, as the captain blinked, came to himself and stared at me, lost somehow, in some labyrinth of his mind's design, that this was something from where shame could easily be born.  
  
The captain released me as if my skin burned him. Rubbing his palms on his thighs, he stared at Theo and then nodded, once. And without a word, turned and left us. I could not hear his steps.

Confused as to what had happened, I stared after the retreating back of the captain until Theo pressed something cool and wet into my hand. "Here now, Yoedian.." he said, his gaze concerned. "Young Heero is ill, is'e? Can't have thet... mayhaps he's the only way out of this cursed sea."

I almost asked him what he meant by that, sailors always full of such strange sayings, always hinting at something or another. But I knew that this voyage was as cursed as he thought it to be. And for all the casual cruelty heaped upon me by the various members on the deck, I was still treated well, fed well, and tendered somewhat for the fact that my coloring made me lucky to them. None had called me the savior of the ship, the luck of it. To say aloud that fact could change the luck into a bane. It did not take much when it came to luck, not much at all. But to say otherwise, that may cause it to happen. So then Heero was the ill luck that held the ship in its grasp?  
  
My mind on such things, I descended again to the babe's book and set the basin next to the bed. Then I settled into a small three legged stool and with a rag torn from one of the bed linens, began to bathe his face. He made no sound. Not even with the illness upon him.

The evening came and the sound of a soft call in the main rooms. Rising I went to the door to find that Theo had come with my dinner plate and Heero's share as well, along with a cup of broth. "Thought yer might like sommat.." he smiled and I almost threw my arms around him in joy. Just to see a smile directed towards me. In the long weeks that had gone past, I'd earned little but scowls and curses.

Remembering myself I but gave him a bow and took the food from him as graciously as I was able. He did not see anything wrong with this, for it was assumed that I had been a slave in a greater household in New Hartlin. The extent of the rumors I'm sure went from anything as debased as a pleasure slave, to the more casual references to myself as a scribe and a house manager. It did not matter, of course. Not anymore. Not to anyone here. I was the cabin boy here, and forced to remain in the babe's book because I could not fight off any who might have thought to take advantage. It made no difference that I was very capable of fending for myself. I knew it to be an honest attempt for my safety, though it rankled.

"He was not always like that, you know," Theo asserted as he followed me in to Heero's room and looked the boy over. "Have you turned him over? He took a beating from the sails. Many a good man has suffered undue harm from those and he may have a joint out of place or a rib broken." And without waiting for my reply, began to undress my charge.

Heero was silent and once he even opened his eyes to look at us but he did not react, did not hide, and did not recognize. I saw in those fever bright eyes a curiosity that was open and plain, like that of a child's, and I wanted to cry for the thought that something may have stolen that look from him somewhere in his past. It was then that I resolved if I were ever to find my way home, that I would purchase Heero and make him a freed man, burn off his tattoos and let him find his peace once more. It was rare, but I had funds and ability to do it, and for him, I would.

"What was he like then?" I was unsure if we talked of the cabin or of Heero now.

"Laughter," Theo replied grimly as he looked over the bruises and shallow cuts against the pale skin. He used the water to cleanse the deepest of them, and was careful not to dirty the water with the tip he'd used. Then rinsing out the rag and dropping the blooded water out of the porthole, he placed the cooling fabric against those most raised of places. "He'll need a poultice. Got a few that Cook'll give us."  
  
I wanted to ask again. Laughter? Who? But I only nodded, remaining by Heero as Theo stumped up aboard and to the galley and back, bringing with him something that smelled terribly like arnica root and lavender as well as a dozen other herbs I would not have thought to use for these.  
  
"No broken bones, seems," he said finally as he settled back into a chair and stared out of the small window to the deepening sky beyond. "Good thing too." He sighed and I leaned against the wall, watching him. It was not long though, before he began again. "Laughter.. aye. I s'pose that was the best word t'describe him." He smiled then and it was altogether a melancholy look upon his normally cheerful face.

"See," he continued and looked back at me, indicating that I take a seat myself, which I did, on the end of Heero's bed, "he was given this ship by his father. M'self and ol' Cook were gifts as well. Came with the thing. She was fine then as she is now. prettiest little craft y'ever saw." So it was Duo we spoke of. I was glad to discover this by listening to him.

"Been sailing with him for three years now." Theo rubbed his chin with his thumb. "Never saw a rough wave of it until the last time we was in the northern reaches, just hunnert miles north o'New Hartlin. Went to a bar, most of us did. Ladies, drink, good comp'ny. We spent much of our meager fortunes on them before we were to return to the ship. Captain, he went further north to see a man about a shipment. He came back with no shipment, but with another man, a good hand. Heero, actually." He waved his hand to the inert form on the bed.

"Well, all was well for that first month, goin' south toward New Hartlin. Picked up a shipment or two and took'em to the coastal cities. Th'world's so damn small there. Get this cow, take it twenty miles south. Pick up this load of spice, take it ten miles up. Made a killin' us an our ideas. Most of 'em was Heero's ideas actually. Proved himself ta be invaluable, he did."  
  
And then, I wanted to ask, why is he here? In this room? Dishonored by the useless name of whore?

"S'pose most o'us knew what was about, from the first. How it was that Duo was watching his new mate, his new man so close. We knew of the captain's preferences, but never had it bothered us none. Don't s'pose it bothered us much then neither. Most of us was glad for him. Seeing as how Heero seemed to think the same of him. When we stopped in New Hartlin and they returned, Heero didn't try to hide the tattoo on his chest. It was a sign of honor among us, it was. Some of us had even dreamed of having it ourselves. But only some. Most of us make do well enough with a woman, mind you." Theo smiled and I turned to look at Heero. He lay still, as if he were dead.

"Well, from then on, t'was a good ship to be on. Merry soul she had those months. And one night, he sits himself down and tells me the story of how them met. See, he had a woman what had boys. Sally Po, she is. Nice woman too. And she keeps the boys and lends them out. But Duo, he's not much for boys. Likes em more his age. And for him, she keeps one or two on as well. Not that they don't find work enough, she picks the pretty ones, so I've heard.

"So he went to see Sally on his way to arrange our shipment. Stayed the night at her place. But he didn't leave. Found himself in the eyes of a pretty little courtesan there. See, Heero was a newly acquired one. Hadn't thought yet that he'd take to the job, but Sally was keeping him around 'til he chose to go her way or be sold again. But one look at Duo and he fell hard. Told Sally he wanted to start, and he wanted to start with that man what just entered. So Sally sends him along to entertain. Thing is, Duo fell just as hard, he did. Took one look at his consort for the night and decides he wants that consort to be his forever. So he talks to Heero all night, and come the end of the next day, discusses price and walks away with a pretty lad and no job for us. Still, it didn't matter one bit to him. Duo was always a man of the heart, walkin' the road of emotion as if it were the only one.

"End of that first month, we'd all come to like the boy. He was shy at first. But then changed to a quiet study. And seemed he never was sure about Duo's love for him, even after the tattoo. He came to me a time or two, asking if Duo was wanting others, if he was truly the one. But that was first month jitters. Nothing that would have caused much trouble, really.

"Wasn't like Duo didn't have his own worries, mind." Theo reached over and worked on Heero's wrappings, reapplying the poultice as he talked. I watched him and found that I too, could have easily told him all of my secrets if I was not so wary of this ship's curses. He was a man most open and easy to talk to. So it didn't surprise me in the least that Duo and Heero had chosen to confide in him.

"See," Theo continued, "Duo knew he'd gotten hisself a courtesan. He worried if he was enough to hold his love. If Heero wasn't taken up by another bloke or wasn't bored with him easily. Didn't never know that Heero wasn't taken with no one, because Heero was a virgin when they met. Boy hadn't given himself to anyone but Duo. I told them both t'talk to one another, of course. Seeing as how I can't just go and blab such things between two lovers. That's their road. And I s'pect that is where I went wrong. Lot coulda been avoided had I said a word or two."  
  
"Surely you couldn't have had anything to do with all of this," I muttered and took up the poultice bowl, slathering it upon the back and then carefully working it into Heero's shoulders, his back, careful not to push too hard on anywhere which might have injured him.

"Nah, but fate, she's a funny mistress." Theo grinned painfully at me and left me to it as he continued with the story. "Because, as fate would have it, we came upon a storm not a week after the mark was put on Heero. We were too far out in sea, needed to have gone back in long before. Still, it was a surprise squall and maybe we'd have not been able to outrun her. Came up on us fast and furious and we lost our mast to her force. All of us was out there, fighting to get rigging up, save the sails. Duo got caught by a winch in the head and fell into the water. Heero was able to save him, but he was down for two days, not a peep, didn't open his eyes once. And when he did..."  
  
Theo stopped there and I refrained just barely, from pressing him. He stared at the young man on the bed and seemed unable to speak.  
  
But there was someone who was able to speak. And in a voice, hoarse with betrayal, he filled the room as he entered, violet eyes flashing in hatred and my heart filling with his enmity. "When he did," the captain whispered, "he found his love, his shy little dove, innocent as he was, half naked and in the arms of his treacherous first mate." He sneered and I could not help it, I moved between he and Heero.

"I don't believe it." I was surprised to hear myself speak. "I don't! He loves you! And you must have simply seen the wrong thing, thought the wrong thing. There is no way he could have turned from you in two days."  
  
"No?" Duo advanced on me and it took all of my strength to not back away.

"He... he is good. He's noble. And Chang.." Oh how I felt his anger grow! It almost overwhelmed me and perhaps it was a good thing that until then I'd seemed the frail type to quail before him, for the strength of his emotions was making me feel faint. I forged on, despite the hatred that he poured into the air. "Change, to him honor is everything! He would never have gone against you. Not in something so base. He loves you too. He would never... you.. you just did not see it right or you didn't ask or... or.. You're wrong! You MUST be!" How I ever managed to say those things, I will never know. And yet say them I did. I was sure of them too. For had I not felt the remorse and sadness and pain in Wufei? I knew he would not have done anything so wrong. He could not have lived with himself. And Heero! Why the times when he saw the captain, the times when they were together, the constant yearning in him. It was plain that to him, Duo was air, was breath.

"And you love him too. Even though you pretend, you still love him." I ventured the last, knowing it to be as true as everything else. "That is why the babe's book is so beautiful. That's why it all is perfect. I'd almost hazard a guess that the last bedroom, the one no one lives in, that it is as beautiful as the rest. You made this for him. You wanted him to know, to believe that you loved him, even though you can't say it, even though you cannot bring yourself to forgive him. You want him to rememeber.."

"SILENCE!" his roar cut through and a moment after a stinging smack across my face sent me flying back against Heero's legs, half on the bed, half off. Under me, Heero groaned softly and turned his face, as if seeking in some strange way, the nearness of that voice, even angry. As if it might heal him.

Duo stood over me, a tower of blazing flame, his eyes burning into my soul. He would have killed me had he the lack of will. He would have reached down and torn my mouth from my very skull. He seethed above me, his hands in fists. "You will not speak of things you do not understand."  
  
"Then why.." I flinched, knowing I was still speaking when I should not have, "Why did you not have him put to death? Why do you speak of taking me but do not? You make excuses for yourself. Why do you not kill him and take another?"  
  
"Take another?" his voice was like steel and I realized I had gone too far. He laughed, maniacal and strange, and he bent, plucking me from the ground and hauling me to my feet. "What an idea, pretty one. Perhaps you are right. I should have taken another, and no more threats. I will simply do as I have intended from the beginning."

His hands on my shirt front trembled and his eyes glittered as he lowered his head, taking my mouth in a savage kiss. This would not be a comfort, this experience he was about to embark on. It would be a revenge. And I - I had no ability to do anything but go with it. His assault on my senses, his hatred, his self loathing, his fear... they made me incapable of doing anything but limply holding onto him as he took my mouth and then proceeded to drag me from the room.

"You will be spending nights with me, Yoedian Arl," he snarled "And so you know, I was going to kill him. I whipped Chang myself and then I went to kill him. But I couldn't. I couldn't make myself kill something I had once loved. Love and hate are so much the same thing, I'm sure you know this. So instead I spit on him.. I named him Whore, and I told him that if anyone ever called for him, anyone at all, he would spread his legs for them as he would have for Chang. He and his lover.. his Chang... he'd done it with him how many times before they were caught? They had months to catch one another alone. I thought about it. I realized how often they had gone off alone, how often I'd thought it was good they were becoming friends. How _nice it was_ that my love and my best friend would care for one another as I cared for them." He spit the last out as a viper spits it's poison.  
  
"And he actually tried to come back up and do his work. He tried to act as if he weren't a whore," his laughter filled me with dread. It was so harsh, so hard. Where was Theo? How could he allow this to happen? I wanted to cry for help but even I knew that the captain is to be obeyed always. Theo would not stop him, no more than I stopped him from reaching Heero had he wished to. when we get to the island, I will sell that worthless piece of shit and I'll kill Heero myself. I'll spread his blood across this ship and burn the entire thing, let her sink to the depths with his body." He was hissing and I whimpered, trying in vain to get nerveless fingers to fight his grip on my shirt. "But until then, I'll take my pleasure elsewhere.." and he began again to drag me to the door.

"Duo.." the soft sound came from behind us both and I felt the captain freeze, his gaze darting from mine to the bed in wide amazement. He gasped, painfully and I fell from him, dropped to the ground where I lay, trembling and unable to get up. I could feel the shift of weight on the boards as he stepped noiselessly over my body and went to the bed.

Turning my head, I watched. Heero had managed to sit up, holding his arm closely to his body for it had been wrenched and was swollen with many places on his chest and he looked around him, confused and feverish. "Duo?" his voice was higher pitched, afraid.

"What is wrong with him?" Duo growled, and I could sense how afraid he was.

"He's ill.. he has a fever and he's been bruised badly from the ship sail beating him," Theo's soft voice came from behind me. I heard Theo crouch by my side and tender hands helped me to sit up. I leaned against Theo's knee and watched the captain stare down at the ill man on the bed. "He's been too feverish to know his whereabouts, ser."

Heero's eyes somehow found Duo's front and he reached for the captain's jacket, gripping it in hands that seemed strong, despite the illness. But perhaps it was that the captain was so weak then. For with a soft sob, Heero pulled the captain to him and buried his face into the jacket, sobbing like a little boy. "He left me..." he repeated it over and over, in such a plaintive tone that tears rose to my eyes and I had to wipe my eyes so that I could see once more.  
  
The captain had been drawn closer but he could not be incited to sit, so instead the sick man clung to his waist and cried in his belly, sobbing a heartbreak that no one understood. "He left me.. they all did. He died and now they're going to be gone. Oh I want him back! I want him back... "

"Who?" I ventured, for the captain seemed to have his tongue sewn to the roof of his mouth and could only stare down with a pale face. "Who left you, Heero?"  
  
Heero opened red eyes and stared at me. I wonder that he saw me at all. "Odin.." his voice soft. "He sold me to Sally and he left. He said I'd be better off as a slave than.. than what I was before.." he clung to the captain and I could see Duo trying to slowly extricate himself, his face showing horror.  
  
"What you were before?" I was intrigued, the mystery, all of the things that I did not understand.

"Duo?" Heero forgot my question and he looked up at the captain and screamed, pulling away and scrabbling across the bed until he hit the wall and groaned from the pain. The captain reached out a hand intuitively to ease the pain, but pulled back and stepped away.

Theo helped me to my feet and I walked to where Heero lay, my hand gentle as I touched his brow. "He's burning hot.." I informed both of the men. "He needs rest."  
  
Heero only continued to moan into his knees, rocking side to side as he did so. "Oh God help me... he's going to kill me. I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to and he'll kill me. God have mercy on him. He left me and he doesn't care. No one does, no one cares. Oh Chang!" and he threw himself at me, wrapping himself into my arms and bursting into tears.  
  
I stared down in shock and tangled my fingers into his hair as he wept. It was not long, the murmurs of words that made no sense, the names that flowed, until he was silent again and still. Then I pulled away and lay him down, my own body fatigued by the passing moments. I pressed a cold compress to his forehead and with Theo's help, put new poultice upon his bruises, his swollen ribs and arm. And when I looked up from this, the captain was gone.

[] [] [] [] []

The New Hartlins called it Intuit. But I'd been called sensitive, witch, and many more crude names. And the truth of the matter was that to live in a sea of emotion was to live in danger of drowning in that sea. So it was that my family had it's eastern home. It was situated at the edge of the Eastern Wastes, a deserted tract of sand and tough brown grasses. The building was small, it managed just well with three servants. And it's main attraction was the great garden, filled with force grown flowers and the more desert hardy blooms and plants. I slept away many a day there, learning to sort my own voice from all of those which I came in contact with. And later, as I grew, I went there often, so that I did not forget what I sounded like. Or after a particularly trying day or a particularly trying person.

New Hartlin was not a land of such superstitious nonsense. The New Hartlins believed in scientific thought alone and such traits as mine would have been met with considerable disdain. Therefore I never told anyone there of my gift.. or curse it might be considered as well. Instead I became known as a recluse and a hermit, an eccentric. Though I was not too often gone to that small country cottage I'd secured for myself next to an open wood. Still, it was time away from society. My wife did not complain. I suspect that she knew, though she never said a word of it to myself or anyone as far as I knew.

To be here, on a ship like this, with the emotions running so high, I would have most assuredly gone mad in a matter of a few weeks. But the kiss and the drowning into the quiet of that ocean borne love, I was saved. And that night, after all had gone and my charge was fast asleep, Theo at his side, I begged a small nap for myself, saying I had not slept much at all the day and a half before. This much was true and Theo was kind and allowed me the liberty.

But the reason was far more important than just rest. I needed escape from the sounds in my head. I stumbled into my room, weak as a kitten. I did not light the lamp at my bedside, but stood in the middle of the room and declared in a voice hoarse from lack of sleep, "If you're here, you'd best catch me.." and then slumped forward.

He did catch me, with but the merest rustle of cloth as the sound of his motion. His arms were hardened, complete and sure as he lifted me into them. I did not know that he had a body until that time. I thought that perhaps he was only lips and face and hands. But I felt his chest against my side when he cradled me to him and felt his thighs against the backs of mine as he settled onto the bed, pulling me into his lap and against him.

Fisting my hand into his tatters, I sighed as if I had come home and breathed in his scent, then lifted my face to his. The moonlight fell across his shoulder. The darkness was all about but I saw the definition there, knew that under all of those wavering rags was a man's arm, and I waited.  
  
Gently, a hand raised, pale and slender, wavering in the light as kelp forests do in the darkness, and the cool touch of his fingers closed my eyes. His lips descended then, and I parted my lips to allow his tongue to invade my mouth, hot and clean, I tasted him and the freedom he provided. And because I had such great need of it, I pressed upwards, returning the touch.

He moaned, deep in his chest and his fingers trembled on my lids, fell away. I looked up in the midst of that kiss and saw him, or saw the closed eyes, the dark lashes brushing cheekbones, the gentle arch of bone around each eye, and the tangle of silken sea weed like hair which brushed down along one side. A thought came to me then, a consideration which wanted desperately to be looked at. I began to pull away, afraid that the thought might break what silent reverie I found in this lover's arms, but he tightened an arm around me and I was pulled into him and I knew no more, no more than that kiss and then silence in my heart that followed.. and dreams.

[] [] [] [] []

Waking, I lifted a finger to trace my lower lip, the kiss still echoing in my heart. I could taste him, like something almost forgotten. I had been trying to remember something. Something important. It had been a thought as I'd looked at him, but with the morning sun, as it is with mists off of the ocean waves, it had dissipated. Even the look of him was gone from my memory and I did not know what it was I had seen, and only knew that I had seen him. It made me cry then, weep into my pillow for I had seen his face and I could not remember him. It felt as if I had failed him somehow, forgetting him like that.

My tears could not last long, a knock on the door brought me round. "Come in," I called and slowly sat up.

Theo looked tired and yet he smiled as he entered. "Yer look rested," he stated, obviously pleased. "He needs sommat t'sit with him til this even. Can you do thet?" He tilted his head and then took a step forward.

"Hmm.. yes.." I replied, watching him as he stepped to the small dresser in my room. "What is it?" I stood. Sometimes small things would sit there. A starfish once, which I dropped back into the ocean. A fish in my wash basin. A shell, a piece of satin. I kept only those things which were not alive, returning everything else to the sea.

"Where'd you get this?" Theo sounded strange and I came to his side, concerned. He turned to me, holding out the newest addition. A small white shell. It was a rather plain thing and I looked confused I'm sure because he turned it around and I saw what had struck him so strongly.

All along the other side a small scene had been carved out, set in relief against the side of the shell. The only way such a thing could have been done is by a master craftsman, with a needle. It was beautiful and as I came closer and plucked it from his fingers, I realized that the depth of detail was so complete that no craftsman I had ever known could have done such a beautiful thing. "He... he left it.." I whispered to myself, tracing the delicate edges around the picture, afraid to touch it for fear it would break.

It was beautiful. Scroll work along the edges of the picture, interspersed with eels and remoras doing a strange cavorting dance about one another that seemed almost as if it were some kind of language in and of itself. And in the center, a pair of humpback whales intertwined in a web of their own bubbles. Kept forests below them and the play of light about. It was without a doubt, the most beautiful piece I had ever seen. My breath caught and I cradled it, shocked and hardly heard what Theo said, whispered.

"Maybe... there's hope yet.." and then the click of his jaw, afraid to take away even that small hope by naming it, he continued. "But more'n likely not.." a grumpy shout to the sea as he scowled and then jerked his head to the dresser. "Put it away. Child's toys shouldn't be bandied about like that. Make you less than a man, they do. You're needed elsewhere.. go one, put it up!"

His gruff manner was fearful and I looked up, my smile covering my entire face. His very behavior told me that something magical, something wonderful, was going to happen. If we could just keep from taking its power, keep from speaking aloud what we hoped. In this small shell, the delicacy of it, we would find our saving grace.

[] [] [] [] []

[Chapter Five] We learn a few things about the mysterious green eyed sailor, how he came to be on board. And Duo shows his weakness.

* * *

((_Well! There we have it. One more. I appreciate those of you who have slogged through the first chapter to get this far. I'm still unsure if I should fix those chapters or not. But I'll take under advisement whatever you all say. At this point, I'm about one chapter behind the ideas. So I really haven't a clue how this voyage will end. They'll settle into a routine soon I'm sure. I hope! Hee hee! I had meant for this to be a short fic. It's turned into three separate stories. Blech! I can't believe it._

_Pardons for any tense issues. I'm just too darn busy to beta this stuff myself. I'll go back and fix things when I have a break or something in school or a dry period of creative dullness._))


	5. The Stowaway

((_A huge, huge, HUGE thank you to Trace for all of her wonderful help in beta'ing this!_))

Chapter 5: The Stowaway!

I did not go directly to Heero that morning. Instead I traversed the calm deck of that ship, eyes watching for the captain, afraid of his moods, as changeable as the winds in this sea we crossed. But for the moment, all was calm.

Cook showed himself to be surprised to see me. I received a cuff for asking if anyone had been looking after the prisoner. But then he informed me in his broken tongue that he'd sent one of the boys down to care for the man that very morning and I knew better than to leave the sickroom of a dying man.

In no way was Heero dying, but I came to suspect that morning, that perhaps Cook was perhaps more on my side than I'd previously thought. I had known many seafaring men who came through our city and our family home. They were coarse men, even the most gentlemanly of them had signs of wear and tear about the edges. They brought the outer air with them like a mantle, cool and free. And I often dreamed of following them onto a cross ocean voyage. The travels I undertook to go to New Hartlin were romanticized by what I thought it would be to live my life by the sea, not just by her fruits.  
  
How long ago that voyage felt now! Here, my hair shorn and my face burned brown by the sun, fingers callused from the work and bruised from the ropes just a few nights before. I was not the same man I had been when I'd made my way to Therese's arms. And far different still, from the man who had desired to make his home in the depths of the ocean's bosom, to lie with his beloved in the depths.

I no longer wished for death, leaving Cook's realm. I feared the ship and the captain more than anything, but that fear was a distant rumbling, not taking over my life or my being as it might have only a few weeks before. Rather, I looked forward to the adventure, the difficulties, the living that was to be had in the day after this - and all those after. It seemed I was freed from constraints I hadn't even been aware existed and to this day, I am not entirely sure I can put to words the sensation. Suffice it to say, I came alive during that voyage and once brought out of the darkness of my previous life, I could never go back.

I knew then, that Chang was not going to be fed what I would give him. But I could not take on that duty until I was done with Heero, or until he was well enough. Thus I left it to Cook and whomever he chose, and returned to the babe's book.

Heero made little sense that day. I was aware of time passing only in the shifting of shadows and the cyclical return of fever dreams, one after the other with lulls between.

With one of those lulls upon me, I went above board to get more water, having used up the small supply I had gotten the night before for his brow. But in the midst of heaving the top off of the barrel, a hand caught my arm.

It was but a hand, yet in the coolness of the ocean wind, it remained cool as well and for a moment it reminded me of the fingertips on my lids, the kiss. Ah! The pain of the memory so close, then wriggling away like something silver and alive.

Looking up I found myself captured by the single green light staring down out of that equally tanned face. He was beautiful, every time I saw him he was beautiful. I felt the need to go to my knees and beg his forgiveness, whatever it was I had done. To beg to hear him, to plead for him to do something, show me some favor. If one could beg favor of something as bright and beautiful as a mid autumn sunset, that is.

He took the lid from me and replaced it, then beckoned for me to follow him. His every motion had the smoothness of the ocean about us, rolling and golden. I could see the interplay of muscle and the adjustments needed to keep his spine straight at his lower back. His shirt tied about his waist, I had at my eye's disposal the broad expanse of his skin and it left me feeling as if I were in the presence of something far more elemental than air or light or breath. I needed that sight, the nearness of it to keep me sane.

But where had that thought come from? I shook myself free of the strangeness of my thoughts, brushing off instincts that were not mine, could not be mine. I do not know where I picked up such thoughts, but someone had strong feelings for this Adonis.

He led me to the side of the ship and there, showed me where a bucket was kept, tied to one of the rails. I knew this bucket and I shook my head.

"No, I do not have time to clean the deck.."

His half smile took my breath away. Amused, that one eye turned and he lowered the bucket over the side of the deck and then brought it back up a moment after. Indicating my bowl, I held it out and allowed him to pour some into the basin. Then he threw the rest overboard and pointed to the bowl.

"We are running low on potable water." He spoke so low I had to lean forward to catch the tune and in doing so, found myself staring up at him, finding his lips making sounds my brain did not wish to make sense of so that I might remain this near for longer.

"Ah," I felt stupid with his presence.

"Use the bucket except when you must drink," he ordered and I would have done anything for him. He smelt wonderful, but I could not place it. It was not sweet, not particularly human even. It was clean, and it was gone before I could even catalogue it into my mind.

He was gone.

I stared after him, my hands clenched around the bowl and then with a slight blush, took myself back to Heero's side.

Entering the babe's book, I noticed a sound coming from Heero's room. More than likely he had begun to go into a fever dream while I was gone. They ranged from quiet to pitiful to dangerous. I begged the Sea that this would not be one of the more dangerous ones. Heero, even ill as he was, had an ability that frightened me and I was not sure I wished to know how he'd ever come to be so well versed in the use of his hands.

The bowl sloshed on my arm, wetting my sleeve as I pushed the door open and stopped, shocked. Heero was in the midst of such a dream, but he was not alone.

He was struggling, his eyes squeezed shut and panting in pain. I think those painful ones might have been some memory. He cried but so slightly and in such a high voice. He sounded like a child. And he clung, clung to the man who held him. To the captain.  
  
For his part, the captain was someone I did not recognize. There, upon his heart shaped face was nothing in the way of danger. Rather he had something nearing peace in his eyes as he smoothed Heero's hair and crooned to him. And looking up, I was surprised to find that his normally strangely blue eyes were almost violet, like a sea at the point of dusk, when the world is holding its breath.

"Ah, water. We needed that." He motioned for me to come closer. I obeyed for he was captain and I was still afraid of him. "Bring the cloth as well, won't you?" and I wonder that he even knew I was there.

I watched him, taking a seat in case I was needed or in case he turned in his madness to murder or something equally insane. I sat with them for the better part of an hour until Heero's dream tapered off and he settled into Duo's arms with a sigh of sadness.  
  
Then he looked up at me.

"You must forgive me for the other night," he began, his words strangely cultured - but then again, I reminded myself, he was a nobleman much as I was. "I was not myself, nor do I think I have been myself for many a month now."

"You have been under much... duress, ser," I whispered, afraid to break this tenuous quiet.

"Ah, yes," his smile, so bitter, it broke my heart. "Yes, I suppose I have been. And I doubt that shall change any time soon. I did want to assure you, however, that my interest in you is merely as a man of my crew and a possible slave to the markets if you should wish. I will not have you sold otherwise and will make you the same promise I've made every man on my ship. You are to remain with me only because you wish. And while you are with me, you will be afforded the same freedoms as any freeman would be. Except," and he gave a small chuckle, "for the fact you must remain here, in the babe's book."  
  
I did not ask him the reason for this but he must have read the question on my oh too easily read face.

"Theo asked that you be kept here for your own safety. While we are more than pleased to have a man of your... coloring," how careful he was not to name the luck I was purported to have carried with me! "... we also must be aware that you are beautiful and the men have not seen a bedmate, many of them, for months. It makes you a sore temptation."

"Ah.." I was to speak in single syllables for most of this voyage, I could see that now.

"Aye." He crept out from under Heero's body and then dropped a lingering hand to the hot brow before turning to me. "You are a brave man, Yoedian Arl. For all that this most terrible of times has brought us to, we are glad to have you aboard. Now, if you will excuse me.." and he bowed himself out of the room and left me to my thoughts.

Strange. Passing strange. How was it that so much hatred, so much bitterness, so much overwhelming love could exist inside of one man? He was a conundrum in that he seemed to be able to pilot a ship, man a crew, and yet be filled to the brim with so much emotion that it was like being caught in a windstorm just to be near him! And now this side of him.

I could sense the love he felt for this creature he claimed to hate. But hadn't he said it himself only the day before, how love and hate are kin?

I puzzled over him for long hours until evening when Theo came to give me a break. Night came on and with it, the quieting presence of my love's kiss. I did not need it so terribly, yet I wanted to hear the sound of broken want in a throat I could not visualize. So I kept my eyes screwed shut and ran my arms around shoulders broad and strong, and pressed myself against a body I knew was there now. And I was rewarded with a swallowed cry of surprise and a hunger tainting the taking of my mouth. I felt some manner of power knowing that I could affect him this way. Felt it, and then succumbed to the quiet power he held over me.

- - - - - - - - -

The next morning I was woken by Theo again. A small sea anemone in a cup of brine waited for my eyes and I released it, hoping that it would live in it's long drift to the sea floor. Then I asked Theo for a moment and went to see Cook about feeding Chang.

I was sore that morning. I'm sure from holding Heero in the midst of his thrashings and from that hour of tense fear and uncertainty when the captain was in the room. And somehow, with the soreness of my muscles, came an exhaustion which could not be simply slept away. Not in one regular night anyway.

I took my breakfast with me, telling Cook I'd eat it with Heero, but I had every reason to see that it went to Wufei. He was bound to be ill himself. We had taken on some water and he, chained as he was, would not have been able to warm himself by pulling his body in toward itself. I was unsure of how he'd fared.

He "felt" dull to me when I came down the ladder into the brig. Setting the plates to the side, I tilted my head and stared at him. Then deciding that he would fight me this day, I shrugged and readied myself.

"I suppose you've been wondering if I've not been swept off deck with that storm. The truth of the matter is that I was sent up the ropes and things got rather confusing for a time.." I began to tell him the story though he showed no signs of being interested.

In the midst of the story, careful not to name Heero's name to him as I did so, I forced his jaws open, pushing my breakfast, the eggs and the salted pork, the cup of water ration for him and my ration as well (I had discovered we were on rations due to a lost barrel of fresh water during the storm which had broken apart and spilled) thinking he may not have had enough, into his gullet. He chewed but it was a robotic motion and only if I'd pushed the food into his mouth.  
  
Still, it took less time than it would have when I'd first begun. I finished the story and sat on the floor before him, picking up my bowl of gruel and began to choke it down. "So now I'm stuck with caring for this sailor because he's taken ill. He most likely cracked a rib or two, or bruised them at best. And so I'm sorry it's been so long. I hope they weren't too harsh on you when they came down to feed you."

At a sharp reprimand of thought, a piercing sense of guilt emoting from him, I looked up and found his eyes on me, wide in horror. I could not understand it and looked around in a complete loss. "What?" I knew by then that he was aware of my intuitive abilities. But he only flicked his eyes down.

Looking down I realized that I held his bowl and I laughed. "Ah, this. Well, I'm sure you've been much worse off than myself for the past few days down here, so I thought it only fair you have my meal. You mustn't get sick." And then in response to the spike of anger rushing out of him, the injustice, so to speak, I smiled benignly. "And no, I know you're not doing any work. But your body is trying very hard to keep you warm. I would ask the captain to loosen your bonds some to make it easier to stay warm, but I'm afraid of him you see. I think he's mad -"

The injustice was back and I could only ascertain that he was angry at me for speaking ill of the captain. I sighed then, finished my bowl in silence and then took my leave of him.

That day was much the same as the first. It differed only in that the captain did not come until the evening and he relieved me for dinner. I took my dinner to the first mate down below decks and found he put up quite a fight against me. He was determined that I should eat some of my dinner. But he needed it far more.

"If you fight like this... you'll only need more... more food.. so stop.. struggling damn you!" I cried finally in exasperation. "Or I'll be forced to chew your food for you, if you're going to waste it by spitting it out like that!!"

That last got him and he took the food meekly, but with a glare that matched Heero's in it's ferocity. Then I sat on the ground and caught my breath while forcing down that night's bowl of gruel. It was awful stuff and left me famished. But it was necessary, I told myself.

After dinner I went back to the babe's book, afraid that the captain had killed Heero in my absence. It would have been the best of times. And while he was not so calm as he had been the night before, he was still calm and tender. Heero, it seems, had been talking to Chang while he was dreaming this time. It did nothing for the captain's mood and he snarled at me as he left. Muttering something about me smelling like gruel and needing a bath, before leaving.

Theo came to the rooms sometime after and I leaned back in the chair watching him as he went about cleaning up the latest mess of bedclothes that Heero had made in his last fit. I felt drained, quiet, and wanted terribly to go to the silence in my lover's arms - but was unwilling yet. I had... had a question first.

"Theo?"

"Hrm? Aye ser.." he finished a corner and then went about wiping Heero's brow with a cloth cooled in sea water.

"Tell me about the shell? The one left on my dresser."

Silence answered me and I waited trying to be patient. It was not fear I felt, but it was an uncomfortable sensation, as if one were too close to what one cannot possibly understand.

"Tis sommat too fine fer th'crew, y'understand," he ventured.

"Yes, I realize that. But I don't think it's from someone on the crew." Or at least, I was not sure if the man who came in to see me was from the crew. I had not brought my thinking that far. I had been too busy with other things to consider _who_ my mysterious visitor could be or where he was from. Because of course he had to have been from the crew, right? Because otherwise, he'd have to be - to be -

"Some say that shells that delicate, were once gifts from th'sea. From th'sea folk."  
  
I was confused. "But aren't we the Sea Folk?"

"Y've heard o'the Oien Sa Marne, the True Sea People, haven't yer?" He finished with Heero and pulled up a chair to sit across from me, watching me with a seaman's unfathomable eyes.

"Yes, but only in stories. I'm from a farming island. Moon Arl. We tell tales of how we came from them, how they are the first and how we're given the gifts of good storms at the right times, water when we need it and cool and dry when we do, so that we can harvest and not lose our crops. And how some of our people are directly tied to them, with a taste of the sea in them, so to speak."  
  
"Yer speakin' o'yerself." He nodded to me.

"Yes, the Yoedian Arl are one of the kinds. We also speak of those born with green eyes as being men and women of the sea, like Trowa.." I left off at that, turning up the word like a question because he was another I was intrigued by but did not know how to go about asking of him without seeming strange.

Theo's brow drew down and centered as he thought of that. "Aye, the green eyes and Yoedian Arl. Children born with webbing in their toes, and the sensitives who can calm animals and hear men's thoughts. I've come to wonder about Trowa as has many a man. But we've thought it to be good luck to have a man of the sea aboard."  
  
"That would seem lucky to me," I agreed.

"Aye, t'would. But the gift. Th'shell. T'were said that th'sea folk, that is, the Oien Sa Marne, give such gifts to a man who is deigned to come to them. To die as it were, or to be drug into the waves with'em. Said also, 'at it were fer a sailor what has luck and their eye on'im. Said also, it were a mark of a'man what has a lover of the sea.." and his eyes turned on mine so piercingly I could not help but blush.

"Seein' as how it's gotter be one o'them.." he paused meaningfully and I clasped my hands together nervously. "But 'aving a lover amongst th'Oien Sa Marne i'nt sich a danger always. Could be sommat good. We'll jes hafta see, won't we?" and he chuckled low.

"You said.." I ventured, trying to get his mind off of my secret, "that you thought it was good luck to have Trowa aboard. Did you choose him purposefully? Or.. that is, did the captain choose him?" I realized then, that I was not only acting surpassingly rude, but far outside of my training and wondered how much of the sea was rubbing off on me.

A low laugh calmed the night and Theo nodded. "Aye, thought him to be a good luck charm but no. He was a stowaway, he was."  
  
"A stowaway?" I was shocked. Stowaways are often thrown overboard many times, or dropped off at some unknown island unless the ship is close to the coast for sheer fact that the food supplies are best not given to an extra mouth. But then, Trowa was far from an extra mouth. It seemed he worked for ever bite he took. I should not have been so shocked then.

"Aye," Theo smiled. "Came up outta th'supplies 'e did. Jes rose up an'walked th'deck to th'cap'n's side. Silent as th'sea, an' th'cap'n looks 'im over. Sez, 'Well? Cain't 'ave jes annyone take aboard. Yer willin' ter earn yer keep?' an Tro, 'e jes gives his odd smile 'e does. And thet is thet."

I smiled, confused but finding it amusing. "He was a slave? A runaway?" Trowa had the cut of a slave but no mark, now that I thought of it. No mark on his bare ankle or on his chest.

"Na, no slave, I don't think." Theo mused to himself, "Leastwise, no tats on him."

"So I've seen.." and then I blushed again, caught once more in the all too knowing gaze of a sea dog who's looked into more faces than I will ever see.

"Aye, s'pose yer have," he smiled. "But yes. Jes rose up, third day out off th'coast, acted like he owned th'place. Don't speak much, didn't then, don't now. But what with the green eyes and his ability to man ropes as if they was his own fingers, his own bones, 'e weren't nothin' we could manage without, eh?"

I nodded but found that my questions were only growing. I was hungry for details and details were not forthcoming. Nor would they be, I ascertained. Theo had told me what he felt was important. I had given him an insight into my feelings on the matter of the sailor in question, and to ask for more would only solidify my feelings for the man and create a possible sticking point.

For one, I did not even know if Trowa held interest in me. Nor was I going to be able to insert myself between he and whomever it was I had felt the last time I'd spoken with him. It was difficult to think, to recognize any thoughts when they were so close to my own. And I was sure they had to come from somewhere, someone near and someone strongly tied to Trowa, they had almost overtaken me. Yet being around him overtook me.

Perhaps it was foolish and the fact that Theo gave me no more information a blessing. I could not afford any foolish infatuations with sailors, least of all, when I may have been in the midst of a night time relationship (if one wished to call it that) with a creature which lived under the very waves we rode atop of.

It was all confusing and I was relieved to have the emotional drain that night be from my own torn heart rather than from those around me. Waking a short time after laying down and feeling the cool touch on my arm, the breath on my lips, the kiss and the scent of ocean in my nostrils, I found my own semblance of peace, even though I could not stop myself from wishing that I could see my lover and that he was gazing at me from a pair of green eyes.

- - Chapter Six : The ex-First Mate finds his voice. And Quatre begins to worry about what it means to be the lover of a member of an ancient species.

* * *

((_Hey those who're managing to read still! A few notes that I'm hoping help assuage fears that I'm ignoring the gaps in curse and all that. If not, please let me know! I will do my utmost to make sure this remains enjoyable, just short of something drastic like selling off all I own and sequestering myself away. I can't thank those of you enough, who are still reading after all of this! All of you are very appreciate._

_As for the curse, I hadn't intended for there to be an actual curse to begin with. Being that this is a sea story, I figured some nutsy interactions could be chalked up to being on a "cursed voyage" in that the voyage is not a good one and may prove to be deadly if their captain can't pull it together. If they were smart, they would have mutinied a long time ago. _

_BUT, after all of the comments, it might just do well with a curse. So let me know, eh? If there is a curse, however, it will directly affect Duo's story and in that case, won't be gotten into much more until "Babe's Book" the second story. As far as he goes, we may have to remain as confused as Quat. But then, this isn't really Duo's and Heero's story, is it? Until then, I'm just playing around with the idea of Quat and Tro. I hope that helps appease you, or maybe it'll incite you all to mutiny yourselves. In which case, just let me know and I'll do whatever you ask! ::hee hee::_

_And that is all!_

_Ajedrez: Thank you! I hope that it continues to keep folks hooked. I really hadn't intended for this to be more than two chapters long! Hee hee. _

_?? : I'm so glad you're enjoying it! I shall continue! As often and as quickly as I'm able!_

_Joyce: I'm SO glad for the open comments. I can see now that I have some work in the development area. I'll try my best to do better on that. Let me know, eh?_

_Sara: Thank you! I'm so glad that the suspense isn't killing everyone. Hee hee._

_Dannii Malfoy: Thank you for adding it to the C2. I've gone there and am rather happily surprised to see myself in amongst such wonderful company. As soon as I understand C2 as more than a "oh wow.. look it's a list!" I'll do my best to be a good on-the-lister-type person.))_


	6. Calm Seas, Stormy Faces

((_Thanks go in bunches of flowers and chocolates, to my betas, Spence and Tracy… without whom, I'd be just another hack writer. Oh.. wait. Scratch that. I am a hack writer. But I'm still very grateful for them! I'm learning SO much from their aid!_))

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Chapter 6: Calm Seas, Stormy Faces

Morning on the sea has a way of erupting out of the sea's edge. Either when manning rigging as I've come to learn, or in the midst of one's sleep; the night is never long enough. It slinks about one's ankles and just before the sense that it may be a long night hits, the sun tinges the air with light. No - it is not the morning that is long in coming, neither the night that is too long in keeping its post. It is, instead, the false dawn of that first light, before the true lights shine across waters and under clouds, when the horizon just begins to show as a dark humped shaped, too long and straight to be real, but leaving one thinking of legendary dragons encircling the earth. That light is the longest.

That next day, I woke to the predawn turning the black of my room into a murky world of uncertain shapes. I closed my eyes once they had opened, wanting to return to rest and turning, reached to grab the blankets at my waist.

Fingers met with warmth and my stomach quailed. In my sleeping mind I recognized that this was no blanket though I was warm enough for it. Keeping my eyes closed, I schooled my breath so that my... my bedmate? would not waken as well.

Suddenly very awake, my mind raced over the moment. There were many possibilities of course. The captain was my greatest fear - no matter what he'd said to me about not having interest in me. Or one of the crew? I was kept in the babe's book for my safety. But then, sleeping beside me with an arm over my abdomen was not necessarily dangerous.

Then there was as well the night time visitor, though I can't say that I was ready to believe that. That creature, whatever it might have been, with its cool skin, its hot kiss, and the inhuman spell settled onto me remained a mystery.

I knew my night time visitor was man like in appearance. I had felt his legs under mine, the breadth of his shoulders, and dreamt his closed lids and shadowy brow. On one hand I wondered what a light would do to him, reveal him to be. Was he pale as moonlight? What color his eyes, his hair? Were his fingers and toes webbed, though they had not felt to me to be so. Was he hideous… would it matter?

Did it matter? And why? What need I a glimpse of his face? He was… was…

The truth, of course, was that I hadn't allowed myself to think beyond the animalistic portion of my brain which had need of the peace brought by lips to lips. I could not remember what occurred beyond a single kiss, uncertain of what things were done to me after. That also gave rise to more questions.

But did I have any right to speak against a phenomenon which kept me functional? I had need, grave need, of that cleansing touch. And there was the crux of the matter. I could not look too deeply into something which kept me human, yet how could I continue to allow myself to be claimed by some creature?

There being no immediate answer, I had been going about my work. It was easier to ignore the deeply churning water of thoughts on the matter. They lurked thick as tar underneath my almost too casual recognition of the curse which hung over the voyage like a black sail.

A kiss, that is one thing. The intimacy given by sharing a bed with a monster? What would that make me?

No - I still could not even think it. I closed my eyes more tightly in a desperate bid to escape the insanity of the very situation I'd found myself thrust into by being hauled from the jaws of death and drawn into the web of darkness surrounding this ship.

Perhaps I too was becoming trapped in the intricate lines of deceit cast over the voyage. Nevertheless, I pushed my thoughts deeper within, where I might not have to listen to the questions. I might have been dreaming. I must have been dreaming.

No. I was dreaming. And the one thing about dreams was that one had control over their destinies. I could choose who it was that held me. I could choose to step out onto the deck and fly to the moon, walk on beams of starlight if I wanted and have tea with the cloud maidens said to entice seasons one after the other.

The desperation to hold onto my sanity could grasp the only creature I felt I could trust. And with a murmur of _his_ name, I shifted, praying that there would be no answering tug in that alien arm. There was none and with a sigh of relief, I let go the dream and slid back into a deeper sleep.

- - - - - - - - - -

The next two days passed quickly. I was concerned both over Heero's health as he began to slowly recuperate after his fever broke and Wufei's silent anger at my sharing the greatest portions of my food with him.

Heero slept the entire two days but for the times when I woke him to give him water and food. It was not his sleeping that bothered me, but the fact that the captain had taken to hanging about the outer rooms once Heero regained his senses, unwilling to go in and see the ill man, yet just as unwilling to leave him. The excruciating pain of confusion the braided man endured drove both he and I nearer to this edge he flirted with and only the constant night time interludes kept me sane.

On the other hand, the ex-first mate was an issue I refused to feel badly about. Wufei reeked with feelings of injustice, mounting to a fevered roiling in my head as I sat every meal with his bowl of gruel between my knees. But he was looking better than he ever had since I'd begun to feed him. While he remained painfully thin, there was a pale living color to his skin that only meals of real food could add.

I made the plan then, seeing how well the Southern sailor seemed to be getting on better, that I should begin to split my food in another day rather than feed him all. I could not continue eating gruel because after Heero's coming to, I was back in the kitchens and expected to check on Heero every few hours on my own time, time I simply did not have. As well as these tasks of a cabin boy, I was also to man rigging, or learn to do so. And I was finding this increasingly difficult without proper nutrition.

True to his word, the captain no longer followed me with his eyes. He had shown himself to be fully devoted to his prisoner, as I came to think of Heero. No look he could give me would frighten me in the way he had before. But it did not make me any more comfortable. For while I had come to see he would never use me in such a manner, I also had come to see the root of his madness.

To love another human being so intensely, to need them as badly as Duo needed Heero, that was insanity. Here, his very heart walked outside his body and the same, I came to think, of Heero as well. But neither could have the other. There was a wound between them, as great or even greater than the love I felt coming from them. And the pain of that wound gave rise in Duo to a burning hatred. Therefore, torn between a desire to destroy and an equally painful desire to cherish, he was fated to be broken to pieces before long. And when he did break, or broke fully - for I found that I already thought of him as broken - I feared for us all.

Those few days felt like weeks. I fought hard against the loss of social graces upon my soul, wanting to remember perhaps, that this may have only been a momentary diversion from my life; the life I would return to soon. But sitting below in the galley with a bowl of hard tack between my knees I could not very well ignore the fact that the hands wrapped around the stale bread were cracked, bleeding in places where rope work had not yet hardened the skin and blisters erupted from the skin. I was still very much a soft creature, and my hands would return to their natural pink and clear finish, but I feared that certain cuts would be long in fading. This was not so momentary after all.

Still, despite my attempts, I fell into that abyss of the mind a short time from my discovery of Heero's illness. The day had gone by quickly, full of rigging practice and work with Cook. I still had pots to scour and a galley floor to scrub before I might bed.

Earlier in the day I brought Heero his water and the small bits of softened pork in a miniature stew made from half of my water ration. Entering the babe's book, I found the captain leaning over Heero's bed.

The braided man's face was a study in human suffering. And if I were not capable of all but tasting the agony on my lips, I would have still have been able to see it, so obvious was he. He had newly arrived, carrying the scent of sea wind and clean sweat upon his person into the room. It made the small cabin seem even smaller. He with the free and dangerous spirit, a tiger caged. And no matter the size of the cage, when one is locked within, it will always be too small. The sensation of danger made my breath catch.

Heero still slept much of his time away, Yet, I had not been aware of the braided man's ever having come to that bedside after my telling the captain of Heero's fever breaking. It had seemed to me that the captain only waited, pacing at a distance, for the time when Heero would be mobile, at which time he would have quitted the babe's book altogether. Therefore it surprised me and I did not seem to find it fitting to announce my presence immediately.

When Heero's lids stirred, the captain straightened and a heady wash of fear rose from him.

Heero was groggy, both with sleep and with the passing illness. Seeing who was above him, he wet his lips and in a soft murmur called the captain's name. A smile lit his lips and a wave of tenderness enveloped us all.

"Heero," the captain's face white, he fell to his knees and closed his eyes when the young man on the bed reached for him, tracing the pale man's face with trembling fingertips.

"You -," the soft voice echoed in my skull. Was this what it had been like before? "Are you well?"

"I don't know," Duo's fear spiked and then like a storm breaking over the fore of the ship, burst inside of him. The weight of the moment began to tip dizzyingly.

"My love…" Heero sighed and it was weight to one side or the other. As Heero spoke it, the tenderness shattered and the last word strangled half way from it's birthing, broke, emerged hard, frightened, hurt, and beyond hoping. Something passed between them then and I do not know what it was, but I fell to my knees with a gasp. Something so deeply hurtful was there that I was sure I would rather have died than endured it one moment longer.

My head bent I heard, rather than saw, the rustle of clothing as the pair of them moved. A soft sigh from one of them, heart break reoccurring, and then the tread of boots as the captain rushed past me and took with him half of the equation of pain.

I felt lost, struggling to my feet some time later and going to give Heero his food. He did not look at me, only stared with deadened eyes at the wall on his other side. I left his food at his side and made my way out to the galley, my head aching.

Loathe to return to Heero at dinner time, I instead spent longer with Wufei. He did not like the fact I fed him my own dinner that night as usual, but had come to see my being there with a sort of resignation that took much of the fight out of his resistance.

"It doesn't kill you to see that things won't follow your expectations, now does it?" I spoke cheerfully to him, more a matter of habit and less one of actually feeling well. Truth be told, I was in a shadowed mood.

When he did not look at me, only opened his mouth for the next bite, I sighed, sensing how neither of us would gain from this. But stubbornly I clung to the fact that he needed the help, what little help I gave him. Maybe it was simply that I wanted something I felt I had some control over.

Was that why? Why I clung to this duty of feeding him? The possibility sickened me. Sitting down against a wall I groaned and let my head fall to my knees. "I don't understand, Wufei. I don't understand this. It is all so strange, so mad. Theo tells me nothing and you don't speak. The captain - why does he do what he does? It seems so wrong on so many levels to me."

I lifted my head then, exhausted from the interactions of Duo and Heero and finding no solace in the quiet disgust Wufei sent my way. I was weak and he, a stoic man chained to a wall, had been drawn into my weakness with me.

Anger flashed and I leapt to my feet, pushing my face into his. "You don't know! You can't know what this is like, can you? You, here, hiding from what happened, the great key to a secret that will kill us all!" My body felt the lack of energy, my shifting into a hateful mood so sudden that it even startled Wufei. At the shock from him, I laughed in a mock triumph. I was too tired to even attempt to stop myself. The injustices of his feeding, his chains, his weakness, all seemed like nothing compared to the emotional pain so strong it had become physical that I had felt from Duo.

"We're dying, don't you see?" His darkened eyes wide, he stared at me, listening as I hissed into his face. "We'll all die. Theo, you, me, the captain… Heero."

That name. It skittered across us both and Wufei shuddered, trying to turn away. Quickly I snatched at his chin, forcing his head back toward myself. I think we were both surprised by my strength. But then, he had been made weak from his imprisonment. "And you have nothing better to do than to judge me. Of all the foolish… idiotic things!"

"H-heero?"

His voice. I did not recognize it. How could I? He'd never spoken to me. I stumbled back from him, my heel falling into the bowl of half eaten gruel. "What?" I suppose I might have been able to say more if I'd had the thought to help me. At the moment, however, I was lost in amazement.

Wufei's black eyes stared at me, worry calming him. "You.. spoke of.. Heero…" he rasped brokenly.

"The sailor. The sailor who was injured. I've been caring for him…" I stammered. "The captain and he, they hate one another but they - I don't know. It's all been so confusing."

Wufei only nodded and closed his eyes again, turning his head so that he might hide it from me. "Yes, it wasn't always that… way. They are well?" He answered himself and groaned, "No - they are not."

Still confused, I shook my head, the dumb one now.

"I had hoped…" he murmured. "But what could I expect? At least he is still alive." Then an intense look crossed his face. "What has happened?"

Wincing, I sat down slowly, my body feeling as if it were floating, as if I were dreaming again. I had been dreaming this morning hadn't I? Dreaming of Trowa. He had been holding me. But I was afraid of him. Why had I been afraid of h-

"Sailor.." the broken whisper cut into my thoughts. I looked up at him. My eyes stung. "What has been going on?"

I'm not sure what exactly I told him.. I do remember though, that he did not speak and by the time I had finished speaking, I had convinced myself that his speech was a part of the haze I walked in. I had unloaded myself, telling him, this mute man, all of my secrets. Speaking to him was not as difficult as it was with all the rest of the crew; I had spoken to him day after day after day. It was a habit to ramble on in his presence.

But what secrets had I told him? I would like to look for him one day to find out what it was that I revealed. Even now I do not remember. And when I finished, I did not feel any more free. Instead I was wrung dry. Like a long forgotten doll, I limply stood, carrying the bowl and my own plate, and emerged into the dying sunlight.

The crew stood at the water barrel, getting their daily ration and a thought struck me. Approaching the line, I got into it and finally came face to face with Trowa.

The green eyed man frowned at me.

"I know I've already had my water. Heero would do well with a second ration. He has been ill and he-"

"There will be no extra rations," a cold voice broke against mine from above. Near the helm, the captain leaned over the railing and glared down at me. "And because he is ill, he might do best to have his rations cut in half. He is not using as much as the rest of us."

"But, ser!" I protested. The captain's strangely blue eyes were purple with anger.

"You defy me, boy?" his shout rang clearly. "We are low enough as it is. We cannot afford to give any extra water. Mayhaps it is all that stands between our death and our reaching home."

It was the truth. The men heard and they understood as well. I could sense the uncertainty they felt. There is nothing more dangerous, more deadly to a seaman than the lack of water. A man may go for a month or more without food. But to go without water. It would kill us all.

But half! The same strange rage borne of the emotional storm I'd been thrown in rose once again. "What good is reaching home if we've become inhumane?" I shouted, my face turning red.

He laughed down at me, cold and disgusted. "I'd prefer inhumanity to death, little golden bird."

"Half though! He is ill! He's been without water for two days with a fever! He'll die! You're dooming him to-"

"_Enough_!!" his roar frightened us all. He was on me in moments and I could feel his breath on my face. "You will do as ordered, Yoedian Arl. Or no matter how lucky your pretty face is, I'll have you keelhauled. And if you happen to survive _that_, I'll throw you in the stocks with that dog, Chang."

I could not breathe. I stared at him, bent somewhat back with his hands trembling with rage, fisted into my shirt. I could sense it then, the madness I'd felt before, but stronger, seething and rushing upwards. It was close. Closer than it had ever been before.

Quailing, I managed a nod, inwardly begging forgiveness of Heero, knowing there was nothing I could do. A moment later found me sprawled on deck, looking up into the green eye of a sailor. The expression in that eye was that of a stone statue. What he thought of my childish display I could not tell.

My face burning with rage and embarrassment, I struggled to my knees and then slowly stood, leaving them all with their shock and their anger and their worry and the million other emotions flitting through them, each one too strong for me to shield myself from considering the state I was in.

Broken in spirit, I brought Heero his food and fell into a chair after he'd begun to eat. It did not take more than a half moment for me to fall into a restless sleep.

A hand on my shoulder reminded me of duties and I started, looking up. Warmth flooded my entire being, seeing the bright eye gazing down at me. "Trow-a?"

He pressed something into my hands and turned. I stared down at the cup of water. Extra… water. "Wait!" I called and he halted. Something about the way he halted made me think wistfully that he may have done anything I told him. It was a ridiculous concept and I shoved it aside at the same instant. "Please," I amended. "I can't take extra water. The captain. If he hears of it, what will I do?"

He did not turn to me but spoke into the doorway with a voice that I would have easily succumbed to myself, would have followed direction from without thought. "The men each gave some of their daily ration." And before the realization that the crew was responsible for this could sink in, he had gone.

I stared down at the water in a daze. Then standing, took it to Heero.

- - - - - - - - - - -

The skies were clear the next few days. Clear of every sign of cloud, bird, and of winds. A desert of smooth water surrounded us, glassy and mirroring the sun until it burnt my face and hands when I was up in the rigging.

I had been surprised to find that Wufei actually continued to speak It had not been a dream, as I'd first supposed, nor had any other part of that hateful day. We two learned quickly to keep from any extended speech about the plight of the voyage, though upon each entry into his prison I immediately told him how the captain's prisoner was in short words. This seemed to be all the first mate wanted to know. The rest of the time was spent speaking of other matters.

While it was a relief to have someone to speak to, I could not call Wufei a friend then. This voyage was not to be a place on which friendships could be made. Still, he was a companion and we regularly spoke together. He still fought me with his stubborn silence and waves of angry emotion over the matter of feeding him a goodly portion of my dinner. But I argued that it was going to go to waste unless he ate it. After allowing one plateful to be left in a corner of his cell to go rancid, the insensibility of letting any food go to waste fought my battles best. His arguments remained and he would eat. So I was satisfied.

He intrigued me, this Southern noble. He told me only little of his childhood, some of his life before. But he was more than willing to listen to me speak of myself. And I had been speaking to him so often without response it did not seem unusual to continue to fill the silences with my prattle. Therefore in him, I found a place I felt safe to speak and took what freedom I could from it. I told him of my Moon Arl Isle, the wheat fields and corn, of my love for my home, of my hopes to return. I told him of my struggles to learn the rigging and found to my delight that he had tips for me on the subject to help ease my transition. I told him of the stillness of a sea without wind, the growing restlessness of the crew, the fear I felt in them. But most importantly, he was the one man I could tell of what I 'sensed' from the others. He held the secret of my senses. Only the one secret, however. I never told him the status of my birth. Nor did I tell him of Trowa.

The rigging was simplified after the information Wufei gave me and yet it grew steadily more difficult to keep up with the work given me. I was no fool to not understand the reasons behind this. The gruel may have worked well had I been assigned to the galley alone, or perhaps had kept to the rigging only. But to do both, to work so hard, I needed more than half of my plate. I was starving myself. The skin on my frame began to shrink against my bones, my ribs showing under the growing need for more muscle which somehow covered my lack somewhat. I had never been overly strong. There is no need for it in dancing and speaking of politics over glasses of sherry as was my prior wont.

Some few days after the doldrums had come upon us, I discovered from Theo that we were a month out yet, possibly more considering the way the weather had become so unhelpful. I tried not to pay attention to the fear that we might not make it to land, our water was already running low. I felt that perhaps it wouldn't matter so much that I would last a day or two less than the rest due to my treatment of myself.

Wufei's water rations were cut short as well, but he did not need it as much as the rest of us did and I did not fight that as I had Heero's. Instead I continued to work as hard as I was able. Yet under it all and through it all, I suspected that the captain's intention was to kill me.

From that night when Heero had woken and spoke to him, the captain had skirted the edges of his sanity with greater and greater frequency. He haunted the ship, often late into the night, his eyes turning red rimmed and his face pale under the sun-darkened skin. Pacing the decks he would bark orders, growing increasingly violent when someone failed to follow his directives immediately. And with me he was twice as harsh.

I suspect that because I was privy to moments occurring between he and Heero over which he felt nothing but derision, his anger at himself wrapped itself around his feelings for me and they in turn, transformed to hatred. Because he could not destroy himself in all good conscience, why could he not then, kill me?

Whether my sense of this was correct or simply a product my having been steeped in the captain's madness, I may never know. But as the week went along, I became further and further disoriented. Even the late night kisses did nothing to quiet the bird's chatter of my heartbeat in the morning sun. I began to see the ship as a great prison and long for my freedom.

Thus it was that while Heero slowly healed, I found myself one day staring out at the horizon from atop the rigging, the yard arm only feet from my head, wondering at the way in which the sun, which rose that morning, shimmered in my eyesight. It flooded my view, drowning me in light and I smiled.

Balling my fist into the ropes, I began leaning forward to dive into it as one might into some sweet pool of ambrosia or scented water. So close it was, so golden and beautiful. Should I go, should I follow it's beckoning, I would be free. I need only open my arms like great wings and catch the light under my fingertips, mount the path forged for me.

Yet something held me back. Even as I leaned into the doorway of blinding rays, my hand was clutched, held fast. I turned my head, staring at my fingers as some dim realization that it was not that I was caught, but that I could not set myself free by letting go the ropes, began to come clear. My brow crinkled in confusion. Why would I not go out into that golden expanse? What could possibly keep me there? I need only, then, release my grip.

Letting go of the rigging was the hardest thing I'd ever done. Some part of my mind knew that I would be dashed upon the deck. Here, above the ship, there wasn't enough air in the sails to make the boat lean and below me I could see the wooden panels where often, in a moment of tacking, I might have seen only white froth of the sea.

I could hear singing from afar off; the voices raised in a cadence for the morning, men going about their daily duties and keeping to a steady rhythm of song so that the work would not be so toilsome. There, a shout of direction, here the rustle of sails where some of the men worked at mending the canvas somewhere below.

How long I hung there, leaning out into the sunlit void, I do not know. The ropes trembled under me and I sighed. The wind. Was it coming back? Everyone would be so relieved.

I knew, somewhere within, that I would die. And perhaps, death was not something I wanted. But the sunlight, the far off sense of seafarer's song, someone calling out, the touch of breeze on my cheek - it all conspired against me and gave me an overwhelming sense of well being. I was overworked, with little water and even less food. The sunlight stretched before me like a great golden road. Smooth and dazzling, it was so wide it almost engulfed the prow of the ship and I could not see the bulwarks from the blindness. I ignored the small voice calling out to me, telling me not to do this, that I was only seeing the unreal before me. I knew that at the end of that road, there was my home. I could see the wheat heads bowing and shimmering with each soft puff of air. My mother's voice danced against my ear. She would enfold me. I had missed her these passing years in New Hartlin just as I'd missed my lands, my people, my island. And all I had to do was let go.

My fingers ached from holding on, an ache I did not recognize until I began to loosen them. The sense of coarse rigging burning my fingertips as my hand released it was accompanied with a delight I'd not felt since the last time I held my wife, Therese, in my arms. I smiled, sensing, in a way, that the road was coming. It would rise up and hold me like a child, and I might be where such things as water and blisters and aching joints meant no more than the touch of a harvest moon's beam on the tip of the nose.

Only then did I realize I had made a mistake. Looking down, I saw the deck, the busy men singing and shouting out directions. So very far, I did not often take notice of it. They had not seen me. No one would know until the crash of my body to the deck. Sickening vertigo slashed through my body like a fire. A scream crawled into my throat and in that split second eternity of death's gaze I wondered if I'd be able to sound out to warn anyone. It was strange, hanging in midair like that, my body feeling light with the fear and inevitability, how slowly time went. I had time to worry about the extra work my death would make for them all. I wondered if I would break through the upper deck and fall through, cracking some supports or just the planks? Would I ruin any of the cargo, falling like that? I had never seen a man fall to ship's deck before. And then, would it hurt so terribly much or would I die quickly?

The wrenching at my shoulder was as sudden as the rest. It turned me in a quick and violent manner and I dangled there, caught at the upper arm by a crushing grip with one foot in rigging. If time had become so infinite in the seconds before, now it rushed past me, a surf of seconds catching up with reality and I blinked, almost completely unaware of my surroundings. Like an infant, I was lifted and the scream I had tried to loosen turned into a soft squeak of alarm, muffled into a body held tightly against mine. The rigging cut into my back and a strong arm tightened further about my waist.

Sobbing, I clung to my rescuer. Had that just happened? Was I dead? Why would anyone have been up here? I had until breakfast bell to keep to the rigging.

I could feel him then. I was limp. The only reason I did not fall was the fact he kept me trapped between the rigging and his body. I could feel the rise of his chest and the warm breath on the back of my shoulder, right above the collar. His arms trembled yet he was no more out of breath than had he taken a walk around the deck.

"Can you climb down?" I heard a breathy voice against my neck and I shook my head, my nose bumping against a collar bone, realizing that warmth was invading my body but doing nothing to quell the fear. I let myself look through slits then, wanting to see if this too was only a dream. I wanted to see how far the ground was from my feet. I turned my face, resting my cheek on a bare chest, and noting that he was bare to the waist, in pants held up by a single rope. I could see a perfectly formed and pale foot caught in the rigging. Beyond that was the deck with men staring upwards, their faces blurry shapes. They were so far from me and their mouths like black dots, opened in shouts which I could not hear over the rush of blood in my veins.

My body shook and I followed softly spoken directions I was only half aware of, looping my arms around the set of smooth shoulders, burying my head into that warmth so that I needn't see the world underneath us. He waited for me until I was strong enough to hold myself to him, then I felt him carefully lower us down the ropes. And no matter the moment, his powerful descent felt like flying.

He alighted with me still holding to him. Strong fingers took my wrists and unbound them from about his neck. Set to my feet, I reeled slightly and had to step away. A hand reached out and caught me for I might have fallen otherwise. He held me at arm's length while I stared at the deck, wondering if I should sit upon it and touch it with my face and my back, my hands and my arms, to prove to myself that it was indeed only a deck and not a flat plain of death rushing toward me.

"What is it about the rigging and the golden bird?" asked his voice at my shoulder. This time, though, it held a note of harshness and ice I had not been aware of while in the ropes. Shocked, I turned and looked up into his violet blue eyes. All at once, I was engulfed in the discouragement I'd been swimming in for days. To think I was trying to flee the very monster who had captured and saved me. It was irony at its best.

I snarled at him, meaning to sound scornful but yet unable to speak. To my ears I sounded like nothing but a weak creature, doomed to die and saved from the cat by the very man intending to have me for his dinner. And he knew it as well. His eyes glinted and with a smirk, he raised a brow, silently asking if that was all I could say for myself.

"Ser," I wanted to run from those eyes when I heard Theo's voice behind me. But they held me pinned with the derision suddenly flooding my senses.

Turning me away from him, he relinquished me to Theo's care. "He'll return to the ropes when he's had a proper rest. Don't let him endanger this ship with his foolishness again." Then he turned and stalked away. I could see the play of muscle beneath the pale skin, the way it rose up along his spine to the point of his collar and there, suddenly turning golden like the sun. Tears stung my eyes and did not fall.

I think I laughed then. Because I could not help it. It was a sound without mirth, high pitched and almost indistinguishable from a cry of pain. I think that it was not just my hurt that was in that sound, but his madness as well. And from somewhere, somewhere on board, a tainted wire of darkness like jealousy wound itself around both of the emotions and made it twist uselessly as a ribbon in the wind that rose just then and brushed against my cheek.

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Chapter 7: Theo and Quatre try to discover who it is that has been visiting him at night. And Quatre and Wufei make a pact which Quat isn't sure of.

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((_Wow. This story is really starting to suck me in. laughing Dunno what that says about me, but I'm so looking forward to the next chapter! I'm glad people are enjoying it and are willing to wade through the words to get to the story under it all. I so enjoy the comments left! Thank you! _

_I'm sorry for the lack of participation on the site right now. I'm in the midst of Nanowrimo (writing a 50000 word novel in a month) and will be done at the end of the month. I'm half way through it right now and with two weekends lost to business, I've been scrambling to keep up with my word count. But I will get back to the more consistent writing when I'm done with that! (barring Christmas craziness! Hee hee.) _

_On to reviewers, the life's blood of any writer with an inner cat who is as dependent on petting as mine seems to be. beaming_

_Rune Essence: Ahh hah! But there's the rub, right? Quat is a dear, oblivious boy who doesn't know Trowa is really after hi- kicked by C's OW! Oop.. I mean, Trowa is NOT after Quat! Trowa is… is ignorant of Quat. Yes. He has no idea Quat even exists, except as a chicken related boy like person. Right. Whew. _

_Ajedrez: Phew! Glad the curse thing is okay. Though it might work into another story… dunno yet. And yes. Much excitement coming up! Or at least I think it's exciting! Hee hee. _

_Spencer Brown: Oh. My. Gosh. Now I know what it means when I read someone saying "I got the best review ever!" So now that I'm beaming and all that. Middle school forever! Oh wait. I hated middle school. Anyway, heh, thank you! And thank you for this chapter. Again! Hee hee. (At some point of time, the gratitude will wear off, I swear. Then I'll turn crotchety like all writers are supposed to be.) _

_Anon "-" : Ohhh.. you sweetie! You make me sound like I have a clue where I'm going! Actually, I just figured out where I was going recently, but it's nice to know that I'm faking it well! Thank you. : ) I'm glad that the wording works. It is a bit high fallutin' but that's Quat so I'm glad it serves as tone for the story and all that jazz. _

_Anon "??": Hee hee. Wonder who loves Adonis-man… and now, who the heck was jealous? I have to admit the "jealous wire" idea was from you! Thank you! _

_Crimson Release: Thank you so much! Glad you're enjoying it. : )_

_Lirael Parker: Woot! Another slave - err.. beta. cough cough It'd be great to have help. My writing can always do with a brush me up. _

_Joyce: Oh dear.. and I didn't answer your question in this chapter either, I don't think. His lover isn't invisible. It's just they haven't night lights and it's always dark (well, except in this chapter where it's very shadowy and Quat's too scared to look) so he's not had occaision to actually SEE his lover. Other than the time the moon hit his face for a moment there. So it's not literal, and I'll have to go back when I'm going back and tweaking, to make sure that is more obvious. And yes, Theo.. I like him, even though he's not yet fleshed out too greatly. He's a fun one to know about Quat's issues with one of the sea folk. He's going to be instrumental to a few important upcoming moments between Quat and his "sea monster." _))


	7. The Pact

(_Thank you Trace! She's amazing and she's done a marvelous job of fixing all of my mistakes, of which I'm sure there were many. Everyone applaud her!)

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Chapter 7: The Pact

Theo helped me to the babe's book but I could not lay myself down, despite knowing how it would aid me to get some rest for my weary body. I was consumed with the leavings of that restless energy to fly, to flee from my insurmountable prison. There was always death, of course. I think I still felt it was just another path, another walk way from this ship of horrors to my homelands. Some manner of instability was upon me at that time and I could not make my mind relinquish the idea of the door opening onto a simple road rather than swaying planks and creaking rigging.

But I knew in some sane portion of my brain, that I was neither one to take my life now, nor would I try again. My one chance had come and had been stolen from me by the very man who made my time upon that ship something of increasing torture.

Instead of returning to my room, I stalked the richly clad main of the babe's book. My hands clasped behind me, I might have been in a salon at home, waiting for information from the latest harvest or perhaps attending a friend or a lover. The blisters I could feel under my roughened thumb were testament to the falsity of such a claim, as was the scratching rough texture of the ill woven garments I wore. Yet for a time, I let myself imagine that it was the earthen sweet scent of wheat fields and fresh water upon the breeze which drifted through the window. The sunlight streaming through was that which burned hot and bright on my familial lands, deep forests and the golden hills of farmland which comprised much of our holdings. Perhaps the singing I could dimly hear still, seeping through the deck boards overhead, was that of the field hands just past the stand of oak and beech, singing to the swish of the scythe and the soft whirring of crop plants falling to the earth before being gathered by the women behind.

Having been left unattended by Theo who had work to do, I muttered slow and inexorable curses made out of words I did not know, and laughed at how asinine my situation was turning out to be. These dreams. We had not water to make it to shore. I knew that, the crew knew that. They had begun to mutter amongst themselves while we sat in the still waters. Now that the breeze was here, they were busy again and while they were not hopeful, the sense of impending mutiny no longer lingered. A man with nothing to set himself to, is a man with a building rage inside of him. But give the dying man a tool and a task and he can work himself into the grave happily.

All the captain had done, in saving me, was lose an extra daily ration's worth of water for each day. I was trying to die, and the inevitable held us in its chilly clutches. I would have only come to that place a tad earlier. But even as he had saved me, I knew that he wished to see me die before him. He wanted to be certain his secrets were breathed out into nothingness before his will let his own body succumb. And if I continued in the vein I seemed to be, he would get his wish sooner than later.

Finally, finding that rest would not take me, I slipped out and to the galley. There, Cook only grunted at me and gave me the floor to clean, though we both knew it was clean enough. I could not be seen above decks, and I needed something to find profit in my coming death, even if it helped none.

Yet, despite my greatest attempts, I fell to slumber some time shortly after. I know only that I had sat myself down upon the floor to wipe my face. The lulling rock of the boat under sail once more and the dim clanks and harsh cursing of Cook conspired together with the heat of the stove. The world faded without my knowing and somehow I managed to remain somewhat upright, leant against a table leg with my hand clutching a wet washing brush against my stomach, the reaching damp tendrils of dirty water on my belly doing nothing to waken me.

I did not awaken until the clatter of a plate dropped before me tore me from dreams. I stared at it blearily. It wasn't much, really, only the scraps left from the dinner he was making. But it was something of greater sustenance than the gruel and it was beyond my daily ration. Lifting my eyes I stared at the cook who gave me a scowl and flashed a wood spoon at me along with a curse in a foreign language I did not recognize completely but had become somewhat familiar with hearing.

"Na goot ter go ettin' grue-ell wif work ta do. Nixt toim, Oi'll fix 'im 'is own plet." And with that he was turned again to his stove whilst I stared at the leftovers a long moment. I did know who 'him" was. And my attempt to be clever in feeding Wufei was made childish before the knowledge of Cook. Like a mother who does not divulge she understands the lie, he had told me of my foolishness and his thoughts about them in one fell swoop.

I ran a finger along the edge of the fork set alongside the plate with wonder. Then I set to digging into the food like a starving man, all decorum gone from me. I was turning into a heathen, much like the New Hartlins thought of my people as. Yet the full day's work of before and into the night, Cook was right. Gruel did nothing to keep up strength and I was surpassingly hungry.

It was not much, I was still starving after having eaten. But true to his word, Cook made up two plates that evening. One for myself and one for Wufei. I had slept some after eating that morning and afternoon. When I was nudged by Cook's foot and handed the pair of bowls, both with a serving of gruel but a greater serving of the food I noted instantly that it was more than I would have gotten had I split my own serving.

I felt almost triumphant as I went to see the first mate. And I must have shown my joy and renewed strength for I sensed relief flooding the small, stale brig.

"Yes, I am better," I chattered to him. "I was not, but I have been discovered, you see, despite my designs to the contrary. Cook has realized how I'm trying to keep your strength up and he's chosen to help me. And the rest of the crew is still aiding me with Heero's water ration. You know each of them surrenders an ounce or two of their daily rations for him? Then he can have a full ration. It is not much, but with all of us, we are able to make it fair." The words bubbled out of me while I set the bowls to one side and went about cleansing him with buckets of salt water and a rag I'd set aside just for the purpose. The refuse on the flooring was easily washed away and if I did it every day, I could keep the small room from smelling too terribly. It was not as if he had much to relieve his body of, being given so little both of water and food.

The relief extended itself from me to him and while Wufei did not smile, his being felt lighter to me for a brief moment. He was always so deeply imbedded in the despair within himself. The shame and anger toward himself was only pushed away, and then but momentarily, when I succeeded in angering him now and then and in that way, placed his attention elsewhere. But he saw it as a justifiable shame and anger, and as such, he bore it with patience and it did little to harm my inner senses even though it was a constant state for him.

"Heero is better then," he murmured more to himself than to me.

I took the words as if they were part of our often one sided conversation and laughed. "Yes, much better. I think he should be walking around soon. Maybe by tonight or tomorrow. He is still weak, and I wonder at his ribs - that they might be bruised or broken, but he won't speak to me and tell me otherwise. I can only go by his actions when I attempt to ascertain what is wrong with him. You know, he is a very silent person." I looked at the bound man then and contained my laughter. It was like two of the same creature, he and Heero. They kept their own council.

"Do you know?" I asked then with a sense of morbid humor, "That the captain is related to a monkey?"

Wufei gasped in indignation at how I dared speak so about the master of the ship. I enjoyed this part of the day, finding ways to drag him from his own ponderous thoughts about Heero and his wrongs.

"Aye, a monkey. You see, I all but fell from the rigging earlier this morn. He was up the ropes like a monkey and back down." Then, as I put the bucket to the side and gathered up his food, I mused, "I think he hates me. He does not know what I sense, but he knows enough to hate me, perhaps. I know the pain he's in an-"

"You know nothing," his harsh words broke harsh and raw through mine, like a razor saw. It could have been that he all but shouted it at me.

I stared at him, suddenly shamed. He was right, of course. I did not know anything but what little I gleaned from the ghostly clues that were hinted at now and again by crewmembers or by Duo himself. I truly knew nothing of why the state of affairs on the ship was so dire, and by that, I do not mean the physical state of the voyage.

I was kneeling before him in a grotesque mockery of a lover's crouch as I wiped down his torso, legs, and nether regions to cleanse him and keep him from infection. The days here were warm as were the nights. Below decks, it was hotter than normal, with only a slight breeze playing over the planking around us. I did not fear for his health in catching cold, but rather I concerned myself with his catching some illness from the filth he had no control in cleaning off of himself. With a hand on his thigh as I cleaned his skin, I stilled and bent back my head and gaped at him. His chest rose and fell in agitation over some great emotion, which assailed him, yet as often it was with he, his hold upon his own thoughts was strong and I was not overcome. Though I could sense the anger at me in there, the hopelessness of his situation. What must it be like, I wondered, to be unable to right what wrongs you saw yourself guilty of having chosen?

"No," I admitted and let my hands fall to my lap, knees wet in the salt water that had washed across the floor. "But I want to know. I am only trying to make it all come to some sense in my head."

He would not look at me, turning his face as far into the wall as he was able, his neck strained, cords of tendon rising out of his thin body. Looking up at him from this angle I realized just how must the voyage had cost his body. He was a powerful man. I could see the remnants of that power in his limbs. But dehydration and lack of food had emaciated his frame and his bones stuck out against his skin in some places like slender visitations of memory; wings at his neck, rounded knobs at his shoulders, his pelvis bones darting up against the sallow skin that thinly covered them like two slender peaks on opposite sides of a broad, flat valley.

In silence I completed the task of cleaning him, then rose and put the buckets away as well as the rag. I found his bowl and as was my custom, fed him before myself. He did not fight me any longer, becoming well accustomed to the infant like status this act put him into, but he did not appreciate my presence.

"I am sorry," I whispered as I spooned gruel off of his chin where it had fallen. His silence answered me and I sighed. "I do not know, do not understand all of what is happening here, but I wish I could help. I wish I could aid you all, even more so if we're going to die."

"You're not going to die," he croaked, the shout of before having crushed his voice and made it ill used. "The captain will not let you."

"Then you hope for us?" I asked him, stepping back as I gazed at the bowl and scraped the last of the food into a small spoonful.

"Hope?" bitterness lacing his tongue, making it poison. "Us?" he asked as well. Then his lips twisted into a fine, grim line and he gazed intently at me, black eyes sharply obsidian and dangerous as a naked sword. "You can save him. You can save him and Heero. If you'd like, that is. And you can save me. But I'm not sure if you're brave enough."

It was a goading prospect, a lure he placed before me and knowing he might take it away at any time, I raised a brow, meaning to act as if I did not know what he meant. "I've never had any complaints over my lack of bravery before. And if you never ask, how can you know if I'll be able to do it or not?" I tempted him back, the two of us playing a game of catch with an unspoken request.

I had the spoon before his mouth and was pressing it forward when he parted his lips to speak, his eyes boring holes into mine with an intensity that made my spine coil in dread.

"Kill me."

Fingers made suddenly lax, I fumbled with the spoon and the last of the food sprayed over his face. He flinched as some hit him near the eye and stuck there, a white glob of some gruel, a food I've refused to ever touch again after that journey ended. I suppose my eyes were wider than wide as I stared at him because he sneered at my shock and me. "Free Duo from his pain, free Heero from his curse, free me from my guilt… three for the price of one. And none will mourn me, Yoedian Arl. None will cry over my death. It will relieve them. Do you not hear it at night? Do you not know the pain that this ship feels? I can feel it. I know it. My bones reverberate with it, made into pipes of her awful voice. Don't you see? If I were dead, all would be well."

His voice rose slowly, more for each step I took backwards, my horror plain upon me I have no doubt. "What? Are you not man enough to see? Do you not know how judgment sets free those victims who have been wronged? If I had killed a man, I would have died. Yet the captain keeps me alive when he would have killed me. He kept me alive because he wanted to never forget the wrongs I did him, because he never wanted to heal. And now that he wishes for peace, I am a living reminder and it is too late for him. He is honorable and he cannot go against his word, no matter how much he wishes it so. You know what he'll do when we reach port?" his face a cruel mask, I could feel the triumph over how he, this slender, wasted creature, held his power over everyone. His madness, like that of the others, was insidious, a slender and fine webbing thrown over all.

"No.. I.. I don't.." I whispered, clutching the bowl to me and blindly reaching for my own. I wanted to flee. "Sell you at market? Won't he do that?"

Wufei laughed then, and it might have been a beautiful sound except for two things. His voice was as cold as his thoughts and the ruin of his vocal chords lent a broken edge under which his words writhed; hacked unfairly from his breast.

"Sell me? Yes, that would be almost as good. To let me live on, to let me find my way again to life if I could. He'd never know when I died then. He would have to live with the thought that somewhere I was living free of him and his hatred of me. But no," he smirked and his head fell. His hair, long and lank, dirty with lack of wash and wet from sweat, covered his down turned face. "No, he won't sell me. He'll leave me here. He will feed me just enough to keep me alive. And he'll wait until the day his honor can no longer stand up to my sins, his word can no longer live within my shame and his own. And then, he'll slay me. I'll be wasted then, of course. I'll be a shell, but I'll stare at him when I die.. and he'll have to turn his blade on himself. He has lost all else. He'll lose his very honor then and he'll go mad with it. Then, little golden hair, no matter how high he climbs the rigging, no matter how fast he is in the ropes or how loud he might scream to the wind, he'll be able to do nothing to hide from me, from his - " a horrible cough rose then in him and he bent his body as far as the chains would allow him as it wracked through his bony, failing body.

I had been spellbound by his words, caught and ensnared in the words he threw about me. And now, when he looked up again, the spasm passing, his whisper released me. "Kill me, Yoedian Arl. If you dare…"

I fled.

The sea air washed cool into my face as I stumbled from that black hole. Strains of rasping laughter in my head which I could not have feasibly heard, yet it echoed again and again and I was half blind exiting and the wind did nothing to quiet my soul. Half blinded by my terror, a collision with a hefty form did not come as a surprise. I think I half expected to either run into one of the men or to tumble over the railing and over the sea folk's wave borne stoop.

"Here now.." Theo's voice soothed me. I looked up at him and clutched his arm for a moment, trying to find the quiet he seemed to have in his being so often. I wanted to escape the piercing darkness of Wufei's thoughts.

"W-wufei," I gasped at his questioning glance.

"Ah," he made an understanding sound and plucked the bowls from my fingers. "He can be sommat of a beast now'n agi'n, I should think." Nesting my bowl into the now empty one, he helped me to my feet, murmuring something about getting a good night's sleep and summarily aided me in entering into the galley where he set me to a table and placed the food before me.

He sat down next to me as I ate, the food as dry as my mouth and sticking to the walls of my throat until I thought I might gag. Then his arms came up to the surface of the table, crossed and considering, and he sighed. I found myself whispering to him all of what had transpired below; the tale fighting against the food in my gullet.

"Best be thinking 'bout how t'keep him from doing sommat like thet again," he finally stated after I was done.

I seemed to have moved myself to a level of existence where I could think of nothing better to say than an affirmative grunt. How disappointed my father would have been in me at that time.

"Told yer the story, didn't I?" his keenly and gently lit gaze met mine and I looked away. "Maybe you'd like to hear it," he finally broke into my silence.

I nodded, dumbly, remembering back to when he had told me of the captain and Heero, finding out the beginnings of what had created this tragic triad. "Yes, you told me. But… but what does that have to do with -?" I couldn't say it then.

"Ah," Theo only said and looked at his big hands. I glanced over at them as well. My food was finished and I was to be doing the dishes, but Cook merely took my bowl and ignored my mute protest. He went to using the rope at the porthole and pulling up water to use for cleansing the bowls and pots while Theo kept a heavy and reassuring presence at my side.

Theo's hands were those of a sailor. He was missing, I noticed finally, a final knuckle of the last finger on his left hand. The tip of the finger was severed and ended in a pink stub. He rubbed this end with the cupped palm of his other hand as if it ached. Then I looked down at my own hands. It had been only a few weeks since that day I'd been drug from the water. And my hands had not come to have calluses on them to the extent that his did. A rough stone and some hot water would take the few that were forming right off. That is, if I ever managed to return home, and not be sold in some slave market or be drowned or killed or starved or die of lack of water. Home was far, far from me at that point of time.

"Well now," he finally seemed to decide on something and his presence lifted from its silence. He let his finger alone and looked askance at me. "Wufei Chang. In'tresting man, t'be sure. What with how he came on an'all. It were bout a six month into th'voyage he were."

Cook made a sound and then after a great cough which interrupted us both, muttered 'sivin' and Theo grimaced.

"Shows yer how much a date man I be," he said and seemed to accept Cook's memory in lieu of his own. I thought back to the first story I had heard at Heero's bedside, realizing that these two men were with the original crew. I knew little of who was left over from that beginning time.

"Aye, most of our ship were crewed by men what the Cap'n had got hisself from markets. He were settin' up th'ol girl with supplies when we bump into a fellow at the Ox Tail in port, on Ulica. Th' Cap'n had got hisself a few new men at Lesser Market an'he was making a deal about money to a man over sommat what didn't mean nothing in the end. Maybe it was ale or some other nonsense. Then up comes this man in silk duds an with some skinny shining swords at his side, all dressed like a southern nobleman. Wants to know if the Cap'n has a ship and if he can board or not.

"Well, Cap'n sez we're not takin' passengers, an' haven't room for one. But there's plenty of ships leavin' Ulica come that week's ending with boarding for them. But no, says the man. He needs to book passage now so if the Cap'n ain't takin' passengers, maybe he's takin' on crew?" Theo shook his head then and I could see how it might have been a story to tell with drink running and laughter. But somehow, in the light of those whispers still rattling in my head it only seemed more tragic, for I knew the ending to the story already.

"So, on he takes him. Says that we can use another, but he ain't paying much, if any a'tall. And the man'd have t'change his getup. No way was he gonna take on a man dressed like a woman's frock pillow.

"Course, Chang took him up on't. An'whatever he was goin' fer, never did disembark but kept on, port after port.

"T'were over two years those two sailed t'gether. They was best friends, even though not many of us warmed up to him. Strange one, Chang was. But a truer man y'never knew. He didn't give yer anything t'like him for, but didn't give yer anything t'dislike him for neither. Just was honest and hard working and a good counter t'the Cap'n and his reckless nature at times. If it weren't for Heero's coming on, things woulda remained that way for time forever, yer think."

"What happ-" I began to ask but was interrupted by Theo's standing sharply.

"Now then, best be getting yer t'yer cabin, I think." His hearty voice rang flat in the space behind what treachery would have led to Wufei's imprisonment. It was coming clear, but so much remained a mystery. I wasn't sure, even then, if half of my questions would even be answered. For each answer and glimpse into the history, a myriad of new questions arose.

I was dimly aware of some undercurrent of feeling passing between Cook and Theo as the large man helped me out of the galley and across the deck. Light had begun to dim and the setting sun set the long sails, pregnant with breeze and dangling from the main mast above, into a russet fire, which reflected off the canvas onto everything else.

I'd always loved that time of day, with the lights warming the rest of the world, drenching everything in a gilt like rouge. But this time, it made the sea-encompassed prison we rode seem as if it were drenched in distant blood and I shuddered. Feeling chilled, I hurried along in Theo's footsteps until we reached the babe's book and entered.

Theo promised to check on Heero and instead of allowing me the privilege, sent me to my room. I had slept much that day, yet I was still exhausted and he received little argument from me. I settled instantly into my bed and turned my back to the reddened skyline outside the small window in my room. But I did not sleep. Instead, I waited, listening to the creaking movements of Theo nearby and the sound of murmured conversation from somewhere overhead.

I may have drifted, for the room's outlines were dimmer than before, but I had not gone too deeply into sleep when my door opened. I froze, fearful of my mid-night visitor. But it was only Theo, come to check on me as well. He carried a bucket of water, which he tied to a hook in the wall and then I watched as he rummaged about in the small confines of my room, looking faintly puzzled. He had something else he wished to say but was obviously unwilling to begin.

"Yes?" I finally asked, sounding far colder in demeanor than I felt. My tired senses were not as able to control the sound of my voice. Yet he did not notice. His head twisted and he glanced at my dresser. "Yes, I was left something else, but I threw it back into the ocean," I answered his unspoken question, knowing finally what it was he was concerning himself with. "I've only kept the shell."

"Don't yer wonder?" he asked finally, reaching out for the white, disk like shell which I kept upon the board.

"Wonder?"

"What yer Oien Sa Marne wants from yer, I mean."

I blinked. Was that how it was to be? That the sea folk would want something in return? A shiver struck my bones and what I'd been refusing to think of the entire voyage came to the fore of my brain. "What… what kinds of things do they take?" I spoke far more steadily than I felt. "What would they want from us?"

"Dunno, really," he stated, hefting the shell in his broad palm. It flashed like a tooth in the faint light and I felt cold once more. "Maybe nothing a'tall? Some sez that they take some of yer insides. And replace'em with their own. Some sez that they want yer seed ter make new folk. Some sez … oh, all sorts of things some sez. Not all of it bad, mind," he added, staring past the shell at me. "Just wonderin' if yer wonder what this one wants from yer."

"I… I've tried not to," I told him truthfully. Then bitterness rose, a fair sized wall against the fear I could have felt otherwise. "Not that I'd be able to stop him if I wanted."

He seemed surprised by this. "Why not?"

I shook my head and slowly sat up. "Why not? Because. Because he comes and takes what he wills, doesn't he? I am kept safe from the men aboard, but I'm slave to the magic of some creature, nay - some monster from the depths below us. I suppose it does not matter much either way? Soul eaten by something below or the death that is waiting for us?" I could not keep the disgust out of my voice.

Shocked at my tone, he quickly came to sit down beside me. "Is that what yer think? That it's over? Sure things seem grim, what with our water an'all. But we've got you aboard! An'there's the sea folk wandering aboard as well, despite how yer feel bout it, 'tis a good omen. Certainly things have to go well for us. But if yer worried, all yer have ter do is ask."

"Ask?" I almost laughed again. "Ask whom? Ask the one who comes to me in deepest night? I think I've tried, but I don't remember any of the answers." I felt as if there were some words whispered, something I might have made sense of, if I could only draw them from the dreams I had.

"Well," Theo seemed bemused by my reaction, "first yer have ter catch'im, course. That's the normal run o'things, yer understand. Why even th'children know sich a simple thing."

I blushed in shame. I had not known. Nor did I know how to catch something so elusive. It seemed too simple a solution. Catch the monster with some magical net or fantastical trick, and then one need only ask for what one needed, a wish in a way. The creature would give it all to you. I could ask to be taken home, perhaps. Or we could ask for the right winds. Perhaps it was just that I would then know the manner monster I was enspelled by and be able to banish it from my presence. For wasn't it, like everything else, just another jailer? I had no control over its comings and goings. It controlled me with its touch and I was a thrall again. Either by magic or by force, I was always the slave.

"How do I do that?" I asked. Maybe if I could control this thing, this creature, then I could find it in myself to control everything else. Then who was to say that I'd not find my own sails and blow my own winds and make my own flight?

Despite the concern and the thoughts running rampant through my mind that evening, I still found myself falling into an unsettled sleep. Waves were louder in my ear that night than ever they had been before. I became aware of each twist and turn of foam and in my mind's eye, saw how the individual crests were kicked into white manes and humped backs of oceanic steeds, racing recklessly around my resting place. I dreamt, albeit in a manner much like being awake, of the sound of hooves and rock and the surf against a shore. And under the cover of the waves, I could hear folk songs of my people, but sung in a wilder tone with harmonies so complex that only the winds could sift them and make sense of them. In my dreams, I reached for them even as I simultaneously drew away in horror, fearing what the songs might steal from me. They would take from me payment for the simple act of having heard music long dead and forgotten to we who tilled soil and trudged haphazardly across the troughs and mountains of wave upon wave.

The melody changed as I drew closer to it, crossing a heather strewn land. I found that myself dressed in the voluminous robes of court, with light but layered cottons and linens and a silk sheath under it all in the deepest scarlet, the hem darting out across my feet as I tried to walk the edge of those cliffs above the reaching tides below. With each crash of wave upon the blackened and bird spattered rock, the singers lifted their voices, joined anew by more and more, until the singings drowned out the sound of the ocean and swept over my head, pulling me gently into the air and tugging me downwards, the surface of the water coming toward me in a shadowed rush.

I opened my mouth to scream when a touch came to my brow, quieting my fear and I knew. He had arrived. Peace swelled in my breast. I opened my eyes, seeing only a broad black form with its tatters like sea weed outlined against the lighter rim of window light drifting in through the porthole.

The dream lifted from me and as he bent to gather me in his arms I remembered. My eyes flickered to the dark corner where Theo hid.

I had time to gasp, "No! Wait!" before the flash of moonlight slid over his half concealed form and Theo struck. I was thrown back against the bed. The shadows congealed and split apart. I could hear a curse and the sound of flesh upon flesh before someone fell backwards, falling heavily against me.

The weight of that body thrust me against the wall of the compartment and I struggled against arms and legs, which did not fight me but remained dead weight. Fear rose in me that in our wrongful attempt to find answers Theo had been killed. We had no idea what it was, truly, that we were against. Yet, under that fear, was a stronger fear that somehow, Theo had managed to harm _him_. I gasped, reaching for the dark lantern next to my bed, knowing that flint would be there. But the body upon me held me down upon my mattress and I could not quite reach the lamp.

I heard nothing but my own panting breath and the soft groan from my own throat as I heaved at whomever it was that laid upon me with one hand while reaching for the lantern and tinder box with the other.

My fingers tangled with short hair and touched along the skin where something wet slicked it. Realizing that this was a scalp, and knowing it to be Theo, I half rose under him and used my legs to aid myself in shoving him as gently as I was able, onto the bedside. But I had not completed my task when I suddenly stilled as a certainty came over me that the creature was still present in my quarters. It stared at me from the shadows, hiding from my eyes and the light filtering in from without.

I heard nothing to indicate this, yet as I held my breath and stilled my sobs, I could feel the scalding touch of incrimination. I had known when those arms reached for me, how wrong we had been. This was no monster. It was my savior and the tenderness in the shadow's outline every evening was as sweet and freeing as my mother coming to me in the midst of a nightmare. I had had only to trust it, trust what was offered, and not question.

"I'm… I'm sorry.." I whispered into that listening darkness and I could sense the acceptance. But acceptance does not forgiveness make. A grunt from my chest as I finally managed to heave Theo's body from me, afraid yet to ascertain if he were alive or not. Perhaps there was death waiting me too as I stood, shakily, and reached out into the black depths of my small room. I would be able to meet with the creature's side in a matter of a few strides into the center of the perimeter.

But death was better than knowing I had wronged it. A need for reassurance drove me toward danger and I flung my arms around in a large arc, trying to come in contact. All the while, babbling something that was a kissing cousin to the selfishness of a child's apology. The full impact of what I had done was not yet known to me. But I stood on the cusp of true understanding, and in the deepest portion of my soul, I had an instinct to save myself by finding the elusive hand of broken trust.

My fingers in one pass, brushed warmth. Skin! I gasped, returning my hand swiftly to grab for it, hungry for something I knew not what. But no matter how quickly I moved, it moved quicker. I heard the soft whistle of air through tatters and the window was impossibly darkened. A half moon of darkness closed across it, then filled it, and like a great lid of some pale eye, it opened fully and silence met me.

I was alone.

Finding myself unable to stand there, even as my world dropped inexplicably from beneath my feet, I fumbled toward my side dresser, going the wrong way and meeting with the door first off, being disoriented as to where I was in relation to the rest of my quarters. Returning to the other end of the room, my hand skittered across the wooden surface of the dresser, slapped clumsily against something hard which moved over the edge and away, then a tin-like smack sounded on the floor. I fell to my knees and searched blindly for what I was certain had been the tinder box, finding it under the bottom edge of the dresser, tipped against the claw like foot of the bureau. I fumbled with its lid and then the subsequent contents before striking a spark to a rush. Flame flickered in the cabin and wavered as my shaking hands struggled to keep hold of it. Just a few inches from my face, poorly illumined by the small light, was a dark line of stilled leg.

Theo! The flame flickered and almost went out as I came in a hasty rush to my feet. Again my hand numbly met metal and grabbed at it, distantly recognizing it as the lantern. A moment later, the portions of the cabin nearest me were lit with the soft light of the wick raised high in its bed.

I caught at Theo's ankle and followed his leg into the darker corner of the cabin, discovering his head, the sticky wetness congealing already. Fear gripped me as I licked a finger, distantly tasting his blood on the tip, and held it before his mouth in concern. With my heart beating as fast as it was, my skin thrumming with worry, it took ages for me to recognize the cooling pulse of breath upon the wet of my skin.

He came aware with a groan as I pulled back and reached for the lantern. Bringing the light nearer, I hung it upon a hook against the wall and knelt alongside, watching the slow opening of his eyes. In the lamplight, I could see the weeping cut across his brow, blood sliding over his temple and into his hair, against the corner of his eye. The heavy red stained the surface of my bed. Still it was a trifle. Theo was alive.

He helped me some, muttering curses at various sea gods and goddesses and other creatures he'd not have dared spoken against had he been in his right mind. Together we managed to get him onto the couch in the main compartment of the babe's book where I might see more clearly to clean his wound.

The injury was not deep nor half so debilitating as I'd first thought it to be. Theo agreed with me in his own way, laughingly mentioning before leaving, how he had done the unthinkable and survived. That was either a good thing or a terribly unlucky one. I could tell by the pinched white around his mouth that he feared what our mistaken venture meant to the voyage. But neither of us spoke of that. Instead Theo stumbled like a mildly drunken man from the babe's book and I took to my bed, burying my head into the covers and losing myself to a restless and lonely night without rest. I did not dare dream, but instead I kept my eyes on the distant purpled bruise of the porthole through which my nightly visitor had escaped.

Sometime later, I do not know how long though the purple had turned to an almost velvety violet, a short sequence of distant screams tore the night from its moorings and set me free from my morbid thoughts. The screams were hoarse, lost, muffled. I sat up in horror and listened to the darkness. Hearing nothing then, I stood, padding into the darkened babe's book, then to the door. There I lingered, head canted to one side, listening intently. More than likely it was my haggard imagination. When I opened the door and took to the deck, the sound of the wind soughing through the rigging had a feeling of dream to it. Had I fallen into sleep? But no, there, the predawn light was giving the night sky to the east the color of dark blue.

The next day passed in a blur. I went through it silently fulfilling my duties yet so tired from my sleepless night that often times I would find reality turning into a sea borne haze. I received more blows from Cook than was his wont and Theo refused to allow me to take. I went silently about the feeding of Wufei and cleaning his area, his eyes watching me the entire while, hungry for my answer, yet his tongue remained quiet, thankfully. I am not sure how I might have reacted that day, had he asked me again.

The night came and with the lack of sleep the night before, I feel into dreams quickly, violently. Nightmares woke me all throughout the night, half remembered and dark, until finally I gave up all hope of sleep and lay in my bed, listening to a soft tune sung above the ship's planking where the watch was located.

And that night, the screams came again. Perhaps it is because I had had the protection of those nightly arms that I had not woken to them before. But no, thinking back on it, I realized that during night watches I'd heard nothing. This sound, though far less strong, reminded me of that first night, the first night on the ship, and the wailing of what I'd then come think of as the wind or one of my strange dreamings I had been afflicted with at the first.

Afraid when they did not stop this time, I rose from my bed and emerged out onto the deck. The darkness of the evening was upon all and the singing I'd been half comforted by had stilled. Rigging creaked under the weight of a body and the screams trembled the boat, still muffled, but nigh.

The watch approached, a sailor named Gordon whom I'd only spoken to a time or twice. "Here that?" he asked me as if looking for confirmation. I nodded, relieved that I was not alone in noting it, just as he seemed relieved for the same reason. Then he slipped away from me, toward the sleeping quarters for the crew.

I, however, did not follow him. Instead I walked the deck, trying to discover the source of the sound. It was broken, half wild with grief, and I thought back to when Wufei was telling me of the ship's cries. Something mirrored that moment in my memory and I shuddered as I stopped above where the worst of it rose out of the deck.

But it was not the ship, I realized then. For my foot traced a seam in the deck's boards and I recognized the trap door to the brig. The sound was not so muffled as it was hoarse and broken then. It was, in some unforgivable way, much as I'd have imagined his cries to sound.

Trap door heavy in my hand, I stooped into the gloom of below deck, and the darkness of the brig swallowed me. The screams halted, dying into a sobbing, before I reached half way down the ladder. Then the emotions, what I'd failed to consider, were unleashed against me and I fell the rest of the way, my head hitting the side of a wall, stunning me.

"Kill me!" a hiss, sinister and magic, bore itself out of the darkness round about us both. I could hear his breath, hitched and struggling for control over the next scream we both knew would be coming, we both could feel it within him. His triumph rang silently, knowing that I could sense it as well, that he could not be truly alone with my senses hearing what he could not, would not say.

"No!" I choked on bile and knelt there, not knowing how far from him I lay, my words a faint glimmer against the black pit of his soul. Oh he made me want to rush off of the side of the boat and fling myself into the waves, his desire for death was so strong.

"Have pity," he sobbed and I clenched my hands against my eyes and cried for he would not. His sobs were not those born from tears, but from despair.

"I … cannot! Why don't you do it yourself?" I asked then, "Why not cease to eat, or cease your own heart? Why ask me to stain my hands with your blood?"

"There is.. no honor, no saving of them if I do it myself," he whispered back. And we both knew, somehow what the first mate knew alone. But it didn't help me. It only became more clear that his need had basis. Save one, save two, and lose one. Or lose them all. But why me? Was I really to be responsible for what had occurred before I had even arrived? Was I responsible for what may occur after I would be gone? Did it matter in the end if we all died?

"Yoedian Arl…" his voice again, compelling me. I whimpered. "You know I'm right. It has to be by you. You're the luck of the voyage. You're the one to break the wrong in this." He coughed again and could not continue as the cough choked his voice momentarily.

"If…" I said and he stilled, sensing my giving in. "If… the captain does not sell you. If there is no other way."

"No, now!" he hissed.

I could not get up. His anger was more direct now, his desire stronger to bend me to his will. "If… there is… no other way," I gasped.

Thankfully, he accepted it, but it did nothing to halt his pain. He, the voice of the ship, shouted out then, hoarse and shrill, that same scream of before and I clapped my hands to my ears. I recognized it at once.

There was no doubt now where doubt had lingered. It had been he who had been making the terrible sound. Trembling I shot backwards, sliding on wet boards and finding myself pressed against the side of the boat, staring at the darkness of him as he again strained, screaming again and again.

Was everyone mad? Or was it just me?

Dimly I heard a sound of a trap door opening and the clatter of feet on the ladder. Then the scream was cut off in mid shout with a sharp crack. The misery continued on, unabated. I could hear Wufei's broken breathing over my own fluttering gasps for air.

Moments went by and then I came to the realization that Theo's voice was speaking. It was some time after that before my mind could make the dull sounds into words I might recognize.

"- see, 'tis jes always been that way, ser. Y'can't have it all those ways. But we can't have yer making noise all up hell an'gone. Makes fer bad feelings in th'crew, ser. Y'got yer times, an'this not be it. Wot happened t'the quiet yer found? Thought y'were doin' so well too."

I listened to the croonings of the replacement first mate and realized that none of it made sense. Nor did Theo expect it to make much sense. He was speaking as one man doomed, to another who was far more so. We delayed what came to us, and Theo was motivated yet again, to make the best of our situation. It was, I realized then, not the first time he'd quieted Wufei.

Chapter 8 Things can only go from bad, to worse, of course. Unwanted company arrives and the crew finds itself on the brink of madness (if they weren't there already).

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((_Hello everyone! Well, with my internet back up and holidays gone, I have time to sit down and write again! Yay! I've sketched out the remainder of this particular story and it has come to something nigh on fifteen chapters. Without any unforeseen changes in the story (due to character inability and/or refusal to take direction from the writer) it should be done and finished at that point. Which means, we're pretty much half way done! Wahoo!_

_Thank you all, those of you who've continued to read. I've enjoyed all of the marvelous words of encouragement and those brave enough to give constructive criticism as well! _

_Ah, and for those of you in need of a time frame, at this point, we're in the voyage from having picked up Quatre from the sea, about twenty three days. There is still another slam packed twelve days before the voyage will be over in whatever way it ends._

_My apologies if you've sent a feedback and I don't respond to it. went through some changes a bit back there and some reviews came to my email box and not to the review listing - I have a bad habit of reading and deleting them instead of keeping them. So it's not that I don't appreciate the interest. It's that the some of them didn't make the list on and my memory is not long enough or I deleted them from m'email. I've tried to answer as many as I found._

_Rune Essence: You're always so kind! Hee hee. Yes. And poor Quat's managed to show us just HOW oblivious he is! It's sad, really. I could almost feel badly for him if I weren't the one putting him through it all and feeling something of a powerful, creator like emotion instead._

_Golden Rat: Well thank you very much! I'm glad someone thinks of it as complex instead of just plain ol' convoluted. Hee._

_Manga-Chick: Oh yeah… I REALLY love the Duo/Heero thing going on. And more wonderfully, I haven't a clue what will happen to them! I keep wondering if they'll survive their story. But then, I've got time to decide. Yay! _

_Lirael: I'm so glad you're enjoying the story! Yay!_

_Tri: Heh. I've already talked to you enough about this and all… but still, you know how it is. I gotta say this review just made me BEAM for days. And to be involved in your stuff is just a huge honor! I'm glad to have gotten to meet you! And I hadn't realized that I'd left it so ambiguous… but that makes me feel even better knowing that it's hard to tell who's gonna end up with who! Ambiguous just means someone gets surprised in the end and I love surprises, don't you: ) _

_Lady Catnip: Awe! Thank you so much!_

_Q: ) Yay! And from a Quatre aficionado, I'm considering myself very complimented. Thank you!_

_: I'm glad you find Quatre a romantic. He sure is too! I adore romance, m'self. The more the better. Of course, having them earn it by a lot of work always is fun too. Good thing the way he talks doesn't bother you! I like it m'self. It's kind of fun. _

_Sabby: Ooo! Yes.. soap opera. And things can only get worse! It's marvelous! I'm glad you liked that paragraph. Spence was so marvelous and helped me with that (everyone cheer for Spence!) in pointing it out that it needed work before it was sent out.))_


	8. The Approach of Madness

((_We all live in a world of continual improvement. I hope this chapter does just that._))

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Chapter 8: The Approach of Madness

A hand on my arm startled me from the nightmare in which I was screaming and could not stop. I shot up, grabbing for him, reaching for him; the one who would quiet my fears. Instead of coming closer however, he hissed and pulled away, pushing me back into my bedclothes. A whimper tossed from my mouth. The metallic clink of the key on the lantern gave me warning before the light slowly flooded the room.

Heero stood, pale even in the golden flare of the lantern light. His deeply blue eyes glittered black in the shadows.

"I - I apologize," I was hasty to assure him. "I thought you were… someone else." How weak my voice sounded then!

It was then I recognized he was out of bed. "Oh! Here, you must lay back down." I stood, quickly dragging a blanket from the mess upon my own. "You've not been well," I protested as he pushed my hands away and glared at me.

We stood for I am not sure how long, staring at one another. Myself, at a loss as to what to say and he, with no desire to speak to me. Then, perhaps content that he'd made some wordless point, he grunted and turned, walking out of my room; leaving me confused as to why he had been there in the first place.

Weariness hung upon my limbs that morning when I walked out onto the deck. The sun had just begun to rise like some golden globe, sickeningly orange, at the horizon. A light haze darkened it's rays and I could look directly at it then; smaller than one would ever have thought, a burning disk the size of my thumbnail, hanging low over the ocean's surface. It did little to light up the deck of the ship and the cool sea mist clung to my skin as I wandered toward the kitchen.

I felt beaten from within, walking the roiling floor of the wooden world upon which I had been trapped. I had not understood how badly I had come to need those almost nightly visits to cleanse my mind and soul. Without them, my nightmares and ghosts rolled about in my head, turning the world into something resembling the weather; grey and damp, filled with fey lights and disturbing motion.

Breakfast ran normally, but we were down to hard biscuits and Cook busied himself for the morning hour in attempting to rig up a water distiller with copper kettles and hosing. I wonder at how well it might have worked if he had not finally lost temper with the contraption and began to beat it with his spoon, screaming curses in his strange tongue. Such experiments were beneath he and his patience. In the end, the metal pots and hosing put up little resistance and the entire thing was thrown out the port window before the haze had been burned off the surface of the sea.

We were, it was muttered, running swiftly out of water. And the resultant unrest from this fact was at times, of a great fear to me. I clung to my duties that day in the rigging, all too aware of the glances men sent up to my perch. I could sense how their whispers consisted of luck being ill this time, rather than favorable. It was much of the same they felt toward the sea, but they had come to see her as a mistress much driven by whimsy. I, on the other hand, personified a certain child like belief that they were disappointed finding it held no truth. Watching them from above their heads, not far enough to block out their malcontent, I felt angry. How had I, in innocence of my coloring alone, bearing the favor of their captain, come to lug their burden of luck on my shoulders? It was an unfair treatment of my humanity; being relegated to nothing more than a luck charm.

Theo and the captain paced the deck, with spy glasses in hands and pensive expressions. Water rations were cut in half once more and it was rumored we had enough to last three more days at that rate. But we remained ten days from the nearest shore at the least. And that, only if we chanced upon a strong wind in the right direction. While we had wind enough to keep the sails full, they still fluttered at times along their edges, not completely forced wide and drawn taut with what would have been a far more powerful breeze.

Still, no matter the good or ill of breeze, we were doomed by those seven days and all knew it.

The captain, sensing this, set the men to rough work; forcing them into swabbing decks, cleaning brass, and even rearranging the goods in the storeholds below. More men were in the rigging, tackling sails and ropes and checking everything, until their brows shone with sweat in the noonday sun. Yet as busy as they were kept, still a sense of upset was beginning to fester and discontent would show its face.

Despite this, I found in myself a momentary respite from the discouragement running through us all. For let it be said here and now, no man goes to his death so willingly at first. Not while he has strength. Even if it means turning upon one another like rats in a cage.

After my last run in the rigging, I went to go help Cook and stopped at the hen's coop, watching the birds peck disinterestedly at the deck under them. Here, the planks was bled white by the acid of their droppings. The surface was washed off with sea water every day, yet still the fecal matter impacted the wood. And my hen, as I'd come to think of her, gazed placidly at me with her black eye, sitting upon a perch half way up the height of the coop, calmly speaking to the others in quiet clucks and rolling murmurs of peaceable gossip.

I had somehow lost keep of them I realized then. For in arriving, I'd had the task of them for a good many of those first days, finding it easy enough work for a man without blisters on his hands. But somehow, between caring for Heero and Wufei, doing the rigging and following Cook's directions, the chickens had gone to another's care and I found I missed them.

Crouching there, finding the minds of birds to be far superior to that of humans at the moment, I grinned through the wire at her. There were many things one might have hoped for at that moment. Rain would have been nice, and should we have had some, rigging up sails over the hatches with a hole in the center and setting up barrels beneath, we could replenish our water supply. Rain would be a nice change. A strong wind also, for we constantly were checking the clouds, even those of us who did not know what to look for. And if I were to be in the company of chickens, that too. So thus, I found a moment where minds were not chaos and while it brought me some measure of relief, it could not completely protect me.

His arrival was preceded by a faint dusky scent of amusement. Yet the sense of it refreshed rather than took from me. I inadvertently leaned into it, as I had sought refuge in the silence of the minds of the chickens, as I sought refuge in the distance the ropes gave me from the rest of the crew. Looking upwards, I found that I was again in the choice position of being able to see under the screen of hair and have full view of two eyes, rather than the one, and both looked down on me in a quiet reckoning.

"Oh!" I stood suddenly and brushed my hands on my knees, a silly wasted effort for there was dirt all upon me. "I was… saying hello.." I ended lamely and gave that one emerald eye a smile.

He did not smile back, but merely nodded and without any regard for me, went about the task of feeding the birds.

I remained, standing near him, simply breathing in the same space as he. It felt intoxicating, staring at the smooth water-like flow of muscle under his skin while he bent and scattered seed into the bottom of the cage. The sudden eruption and flutter of wings could not steal my attention.

"It is strange," I began and then hesitated as he straightened and looked down upon me. I felt pierced and remade by that one eyed gaze. All around me, there was a tantalizing breath of peace, just a few steps out of my reach. "I-I mean, about the chickens," I stammered. "They're still alive. I would have thought that without much water and with food stores dear, we would have begun to eat them? And yet they're unharmed. I think they even get some of the water rations."

He stiffened and arched that one brow into a fine bow above his eye. I could see the lines of disapproval in every curve and angle of his body and I wanted again, to fall to my knees before him, assure him that I was but human, not an Adonis, and therefore knew not what I was speaking of; to beg forgiveness for my callous words about his charges. They were naught but chickens and yet I felt I had done wrong in speaking so glibly about death. What good would the death of the birds do? We still had eggs, they still lived. To kill even the smallest rat hidden in the stores would have seemed a sacrilege under the weight of that one eye's glance.

I remained standing, frozen for some time, after he left me. My vision turned to watch the green I had memorized in that singular moment.

It was during the remainder of the day, that I found myself concocting excuses just to leave the galley so that I might catch a glimpse of him again. Something about the simple sight of him seemed to ease the tenseness of my muscles and to put my mind at ease, if but slightly. In a matter of a few short hours, I was grounded in a deep obsession. Cook, finally disgusted with my inability to respond even to the harshest of his blows, sent me back to the ropes.

From there, I was happiest. I could watch Trowa without fail and the echo of men's hearts seemed more dully edged when one was farther from the source. I hung from ropes, keeping an eye glued to his form until a cuff from one of the other sailors to remind me of my responsibilities almost sent me flying from them. From then on, I worked at seeming to work, while in actual fact, keeping myself turned to some particular direction so that I might keep him within sight.

He had always been a fascinating subject for me. But until then, I had been too busy just learning the ways of the ship and keeping my sanity to have watched him long. Now, with the end of sanity and life just around the corner, I did not begrudge myself one free moment to seek him out and drink in the sight of him. He, like some far off seabird, flashed sunlight, his nut-brown body nothing like dull earth but rather golden as the setting sun over the waves.

That day, I took up the task of working with four other hands on restoring ballast to the mast arms. Trowa was busy with working on rails which had been washed away in the last gale. Many of the men reworked netting to go over the bow and others were set to fixing rigging that had been torn or frayed. The ship buzzed with action within the slim winds of the day. But my task allowed me a time and more to settle myself on the yard arms and look out over them all while waiting for another bag to be passed up.

Thus, the day passed quickly and when the time for water rations to be passed out at the evening's end, I took a full double ration to split between myself, Wufei and Heero.

Wufei spoke to me that evening; his eyes following me and his concern sliding around on the ground after my heels. I could not understand what he feared. He refused more than half of his water, even after my threats to drop it to the floor. Instead, he insisted upon my drinking it or giving it to Heero. Knowing Heero needed anything he could get as he was gaining in strength, I put all into a bowl and gave it to the other man later on that evening while taking him his hard tack and fish.

I was not overly surprised to find Heero pacing in his quarters. He sat when I gave him his bowl. But he also, followed me with eyes that had messages in them. Unable to read him fully, my brain holding too much what with my own fears and those of all of the others onboard, I merely smiled, waited until he was finished, and refused to ask or speculate.

A cry rose from above while I was waiting and leaving Heero, I rushed to the upper deck. A feeling of anger, panic, fear intermixed, hit me the moment I came to air. Above us, the sky had become black, a storm head moving in upon a rushing wind. Already I could feel the winds hit my face and push my hair upon my head. The storm roved across the sea like a great predator, stalking the ship. But still, the panic confused me. A storm was dangerous, yes. But storms brought a grim acceptance, not fear. We might have even run under sail if the wind proved to stable enough, some of the sails drawn up, yet at a faster pace than we had been going. Why then the rising fright I felt from them?

Men circled the center near the mainmast where one of the sailors, a man did not know a name for, shouted something about cursed. Theo pressed past me and I grasped his arm, looking at his pale face.

He gazed down at me, his mouth turned in a grim line. "Storm coming and one of the men has seen Sea Folk off the port side."

"Sea Folk?" I furrowed my brow in confusion.

Theo reached for me as well and gave my upper arm a comforting squeeze, yet the touch did not comfort and instead, transferred his growing panic and guilt. Was this, then, something we had brought upon ourselves with the trap we had set? I stared at him, my eyes wide. "Could it be that…" but I had not heart to say it aloud. His short, quick nod as he left weakened my knees and pressed me back toward the standing mast where I leaned against the shoring ropes wrapped around its girth.

The smell of sea and sweat surrounded me and the razor sharp will that cut through us all told me that the captain had come. Men quieted immediately upon his. He braced himself against the wind, the coming storm that was all but upon us, and grasped the wailing fellow by the back of the shirt, shaking him like a dog.

The sailor, not yet overcome, stared in horror and began to babble, "Over the bow! Port side, woman in the water! She came with the storm, ser! Saw'er clear as I'm seeing you! Shadows under her too, like more! Silver and catching sun. Gods have mercy, ser! We're going down this hour!"

The captain let go of the man and he fell backwards onto the deck. Then, wind catching braid and whipping it into a living serpent that flew about head, the angered captain turned onto us all, his eyes fiery with some hellish fever.

"If the sea is wanting us," he roared, "she'll come and take us. Until then, there will be no talk of going down! What says that she's not coming just for him?" and his finger pointed at the rising sailor who, hearing the words, crumpled into a ball and keened.

The men were not given time to talk nor to protest. The captain's orders bound them to action as he pointed upwards. "Third and second watch! Man rigging, shore up the foresails! First, onto the capstan!"

Like automatons, we followed his sharp commands, driven before the wind by his far stronger will, cutting sails up and swinging on rigging. I, not yet knowing fully more than how to bring up and down a sail, how to tie up rigging, and a few more somewhat useful actions, was distracted in watching the movements of the others so that I could know where I should go. I wasn't aware of the storm until the very moment it pounced.

Wind first. A sudden rise of air shoved into the sails. I almost lost hold, yet learning from my experience of before, quickly threw arms around the plentiful ropes, scaling to the yard to get a stronger seat.

We worked for what felt close to an eternity, catching up sailing canvas, drawing on the halyard ropes and placing ties on the shortened sheets so that the canvas would not tear nor blow away. Then we fought our way to the foresails to help the other crew at furling the entire foremast but for the bottom two which were left unfurled and giving the ship propulsion. The same treatment was done for the mizzen mast by the remaining crew who finished that whilst we finished the fore. All the while, below, the shouted orders of men from captain to crew and recognition of orders back fought against the hungry wailing of the gale.

Hearing a sound that was not quite wind, nor water, I clung to the yardarm and stared out at the sea,. Thunder rolled upon us, a sound I'd heard many a season sitting in the quiet, dimly lit apartments at my home. Yet here, upon the water, sounds were heightened by the open spaces as well as our fear laden senses. Lightening flashed and the black was all about us now but for on the southern horizon where the edge of the storm could be seen still and blue sky mocked our state. No rain; yet I looked down and saw the men setting up a catchall for the barrels that were empty. They did not put them above the entry holes, but were actually rigging them up above the deck level. I could not understand the purpose of having the barrels so high. I was quick to see the reason however.

A shout, high and strained, broke from across deck. I swiveled upon my seat in the rigging and gasped in horror.

The wind we were battling against was but a sister, and a younger one at that, to the storm that came upon us then, Her bounty, a great wind pressing itself deep against the ship's side and following it, just beyond, waves so high that the horizon was lost, even from my higher vantage point. The first one would easily overcome the ship's sides. With a sense of terror, I looked down at the entire first watch clamoring to tie themselves to the side or grasp the handles of the turnstile they'd been struggling against, before the waves could break upon us. The captain, holding to a chain against a far rail, bawled out orders that I could not hear, yet guessed at as men turned to the rigging and began to strive at changing the direction our sails turned. And just beyond, Theo, anchored to the great helm wheel, braced himself.

Being on the lower yardarm, I could see them clearly at the moment the first wave hit. Washing over them, it transformed the entire ship into a roiling pool of white foam and black angles. Then it drained over the side and we slid into the trough left in its wake. The deck was clear once more and amazing, men still remained, pulling on the rigging. I did not count nor see if all were still aboard. Though I feared some were lost. There was no netting up along the fore and the rails were gone at the far side of the ship. Ballast had been placed yet what good would that do, other than keeping us from going down?

Swinging to the deck, I leapt to aid with drawing back on shoring ropes. We had began to pull as another wave came over us. I say came over us, for I find few words to explain the sense of being surrounded by such a great violence. From the deck, there was only wave upon wave. One moment, the view of that false, fearful horizon moving far above one's head, and at the next, nothing but a complete, encompassing sound, a cold kicking one's breath from one's lungs and chilling one's limbs until they can do nothing but steadily go toward what task you've forgotten you had set them to, and a force more wild than any wind, knocking one's feet out from under one and pummeling one's body against any surface that happens to be near. Many of us struggled against the force of the wave and at some time, I cannot say what number of wave it was, pain lanced through me as something smashed into my knee. The hurt was of no importance at that moment and through the haze in my mind, I found I could still continue.

The storm was meaningless. Maybe the fact that one of the Oin Sa Marne had been seen made us all act so desperately. Perhaps it was the curse of the captain's hatred for the one he'd loved and bound to him. Could it have been merely the sea coming to retrieve me? My sweet Therese, had she cried for revenge upon her and I had done nothing to spill blood. I had not even, in my grief, remembered to make mark upon my own arm in remembrance of her. And what a foolish time to recall my lack of action! Neither wind nor wave had any care if I had grief written upon my body.

During the squall, I saw no less than two men swept overboard, had sight of their doomed faces and the look of hopeless acceptance. To lose their fragile contact with the ship was a certainty of death this deeply into the heart of the storm. They knew that once lost, they could never be found again. I would weep for them later. Yet their faces were not alone. Men who worked with me to combat the sea had much the same expression. An Oin Sa Marne had been sighted. She meant to take us all.

I lost myself in the moments following the first wave that came upon us. Even now, they remain a blur of pain, cold, and sound. There was spray all around, water everywhere, and all the while, the constant smashing of thunder and blinding flashes of lightening. The very two alone would have been terrifying enough. The waves and wind added another side to it all which tore me from terror into a sheer terror and present mindedness in which I could move and breath and hold fast to rope or mast or chain to keep myself from being drawn into the black maw of ocean which opened at the apex of every wave we crashed through.

Yet, like all experiences that tear at one's soul, the storm was finished come the proper time or another. The waves no longer tore across the deck, the wind remained swift but did not howl so, and the lightening and her thunderous sister no longer broke apart our eyes and ears. In the wake of the main of the storm, I did not hear commands, so much as know like many of the others, that we would take advantage of what wind we were afforded. We went about the task like men dead.

Climbing the rigging as a dead man is not so hard as one might think. I could reach for the next rope and never consider if my arms or legs were having to battle against lethargy. There is no feeling to them in that state and actions are automatic. I had no sense until I was well into the height of the mizzen mast and was shocked to find myself staring into black eyes I had never seen in the open air.

"W-Wu-" I choked and my voiced failed me, hoarse as if I too had been screaming all the while.

His face grim and his body as slim as the ropes he worked, he gave me a glance and that was all. Yet his determination wept warmth into me and with reserves I had not known myself to have, I found myself working with he and others over the hours as we checked rigging, dropped the battens on what sails had them, undid tyes to furl the chained sails, and set them all to capture the wind. Sails done, we kept to the those remaining of the first watch working on pulling down the two sails which were tore, putting up a new tye chain on one of the main sails, and other needed repairs. And all the while, the wind taunted us, giving us a great deal of speed but also having broken us upon her.

The men accepted Wufei's presence with a calm I would not have expected. There was no questioning him about his being there, nor did they do more than give him a single look of surprise at the most, when he first appeared to each. Like a well oiled machine, they quickly fell under his guidance. His calls had not the herald quality of the captain's, made rough and high by his earlier abuse in the brig. Yet men were trained to take heed of it and they did so.

It was quickly obvious that we had not the manpower to work the sails as well as work repairs. Yet Theo, the green eyed sailor, the captain, and Wufei's instinctive guidance of the crew was to get us under sail and then to work us into repairs despite our exhaustion. More than once, I found myself almost falling to the deck, stars whirling through my sight. I was not alone in this weakness. Later that following day, after the storm was a distant nightmare, a quiet burial at sea carried a man the grave. He had been too injured to remain conscious in the sails and his fall to the deck, cracked his neck bones against a winch handle.

Waking from a slumber that was too short, I drew myself out of the bed, unable to recall how I'd come to lie there in the first place. The sun was all but down as I stood out on the plankings and looked at the deceptively fair looking sea around us.

The setting sun cast shadows over the deck and I let myself be blinded by the red handed fire of it. Ahead of me at the stern, Theo held the helm, his arms looped over a handle coming from the main curve of the wheel. His face, darkened with some thunder of his own, stopped me just short of going to the galley and I paused to regard him.

Somehow, he noticed my attention and left the helm to come to the railing and look down upon me. His eyes asked me how to undo our wrongs and if we had been the cause of this. I could think of nothing to say to him, so in the stead of answers I tried to direct our conversation to other corners. "We have our wind. It should give us a cleaner chance at finding the islands."

His mouth set in a grim line, he shook his head. "We lost two water barrels o'er her side." I noticed then that the wheel was chained to the course, the result of a good, solid wind until we tacked.

"But what about the sheeting? We were catching rain…" I felt my heart sink.

"There were no rain. Salt spray. Aye, we caught that a'plenty, we did," his tone was bitter.

Blinking back a different kind of star, I looked up to see our sails so full that they looked ready to burst from the various ropes which held them to the wooden arms crossing the masts. A wind. Surely this would be good news. Some good luck to counteract the bad? For bad luck we had in spades.

It was a moment of delusion. We had no water. Or so little it no longer mattered. But I so desperately wished for our safe return, for the hope of those water barrels and the rain that had not come, for the slender chance of survival. The wind proved a diversion against the matter of our deaths, never more close than now.

Had I but known that death was far closer. No diversion could tear me from the reality of what happened next.

Leaving Theo with no words of comfort to give, I turned towards the galley and paused at the door, frowning. Within, not quite masked by the wind's moan, a man's broke through the wooden surface.

I needn't have concerned myself with the door, for a hair's breadth after, it crashed open, shoving me backwards and into a rail. I sat up at the sound of shouting and stared in surprise.

Cook barreled through the open door, beset. A large man, his words tumbled from him in foreign taste harsh and coarse with his shouting, and I am certain little of what he said was appropriate for polite company. Upon him two men clung, one with a face pale as the moon and the other dark as the waters. They struggled to tear him down, trying as well as they could to quiet him. From behind, another man, smaller than the first two but with a face pinched with bestial anger leapt through the doorway, his form back lit by the galley lights, and his hand flashed silver.

I had time to gasp, to reach out as if to stop them, then there was the brief and sickening sound of … Ah, but even that sound is not worth the time it takes to speak of it. It wounds sensibilities that have not heard it and those who have, I pity your dreams as I pity my own. All that is of consequence is what happened next.

A guttural cry from Cook ended in a soft moan as he crashed to his knees. The two men holding him bore him to the ship's decking and the third dropped what I now realized was a dagger, his face pale. "Too late!" he cried in a tone of desperate horror, then he turned and ran.

But where is there to run? The lower decks had been roused by the shouts. I stared in shock, noting the darker gentleman, if gentleman is such a name to give a creature, stand shakily from the inert form under him and stumble to the side of the vessel. He grabbed for a railing that was not yet replaced in order to, I would suppose, relieve his stomach of its contents. Finding air under his hand, flailed grotesquely against the dim, his face one of surprise as he spun in the empty space and fell backwards, into the sea.

"Man overboard!" a routine call at the sound of such a distinct splash.

The deck was suddenly swarming. Slow in rousing myself from my stupor at what I'd just witnessed, I moved to stand, staring about me in a hazy recognition of what was going on, yet uncertain of what was to happen next. I was unaccustomed to murder and our world was so very small upon this ship. Voices shouted, I could not discern one from the other but that there was some discontent about water.

What water, though? I could have laughed over it. Two barrels gone and that which was left would not last the coming day out.

"What goes on here?" a powerful voice broke through the men and I, from my vantage, could just see the top of the captain part through them all. I looked around me and sighting an empty cask, clambered upon it, looking down into the gathering of men. The draining blood of the sky covered the drained blood upon the decking where the body of Cook lay as it had fallen, face down. The two remaining murderers stood held near it by their shipmates. Upon their faces, terror and grim hatred shone. Theo had appeared and kept guard near them, his mouth set to what was an even grimmer line than before. He had to have seen as well as I, his vantage being from the helm.

"Ser!" Theo called, quick witted enough, "They two, wi'Sparks, seem ta have took ta partakin' more'n their share o'water. Cook looks ta hev protested."

"I see only two, where is Sparks?" the captain's back was to me, tense with anger. Above the entire crowd a haze of anger and fear rose. But from he, there was a much sharper tang of madness, so close to the surface, I feared it. He had to know of the loss of water, the way we were riding death's waves, and I felt that he desired it. He wanted to die, wanted us all to die.

"Overboard, ser," Theo nodded toward the aft of the ship. The wind had carried us so far, had Sparks been a man we'd have wished to keep, we still were without the power to turn and save him in time. With the darkened waters and the winds, it would take a miracle to find him.

"There let him lie. May the sea leave his bones and curse him to remain for eternity," the captain stated angrily and then waving an arm at the other two, cursed. "Hang these from the mizzen," and turning he made as if to return to his quarters.

"Ser! I protest!" Theo reached for the captain's shoulder. "We hev need o'men, ser! We'll ne'er sail with so few!"

The captain's face suddenly in plain view, I found my knees sagging and was forced to grab onto netting draped over the pile of casks looming behind me. There was no distinction between sane and insane any longer upon that pale visage. The captain had fallen fully through and the result was a mad gleam to his eye as he caught sight of me. The unstable sense of self pained me and I gasped, not finding relief even he turned and threw off Theo's arm. "Will you mutiny too, man?" he cried.

"No ser!" Theo's voice, counterpoint to the crazy lilt of the captain's seemed off kilter somehow, as if it could not fully match itself with the tone of the voyage. "No, but we be needin' men, ser! Yeh cannat hang th'men! Throw'm in th'brig ser! We'll draw'm out when we 'ave need of 'em!"

"I am captain!" the captain's voice thundered. "I make decisions of life and death upon these waters! I say they hang, now will ye hang'm or no, mate?" Oh and he meant every word. He was a god here, grander than the Lady or the Weaver, with our lives held in the palms of his hands.

I begged silently, knowing our days to be shortened, certain that there was easily not water enough to guide us even into eternity. I wished for Theo to deny his own core for once. I desired him to silently follow orders for I knew the mad creature he was before and murder stood foremost in the captain's mind.

My silent warnings went unheeded and Theo's jaw clenched. He stood straight as a noble led to the executioner. I realized then that he knew what he faced and would do right no matter the consequences. "No, ser. I'll not do sich a thing."

There was silence where only the wind spoke, then the captain lunged at his first mate. I cried out but my cry lost itself in those of the men. Theo, stepping back swiftly, was not swift enough. Perhaps it was from his knowledge that inciting the captain to further wrath would cause greater harm. Perhaps it was a result of the altercation from the unsuccessful trap he and I had tried to spring. Nevertheless, the captain's fist caught him a blow across the jaw and threw him backwards. He stumbled over the body of Cook, falling heavily to the deck. The captain, standing spread legged over him as a conqueror, pointed his finger at the other men in direction. "Rope. Lash him to the mainmast" That said, he turned and stalked toward his cabin.

Pausing, he turned. "And hang the mutineers," he snarled, gesturing to the other two.

I sat myself heavily upon the cask and watched the proceedings with a dazed consciousness. Men hauled Theo to the mast and gathered rope for the binding of him. The two sailors were dragged backwards, toward the brig where I am sure Wufei was chained once more. Watching it all, I wondered at how Wufei had become free in the first place and thought that mayhaps Theo did far more behind the back of the captain than I had previously thought. Theo was aware of the tortured soul of his captain and there are some decisions one cannot always depend upon to be made in the best interest of the crew when one has the disposition of our long haired leader.

Theo, roped tightly, his face pressed to the mast, closed his eyes in pain and I, uncertain of it all, stood and began to approach him. He was my friend, perhaps the only friend I had upon this voyage. But an arm came before me, stopping me. Darkened as the sun had set, I looked past the slender coil of muscle upon that arm and up at the face above me, catching the gleam of one green eye. As always before, I found myself instantly yearning toward him despite the plight of my friend and the insanity of the present. I was exhausted by the commotion upon the deck and the spike of fear in the two doomed men made me almost mad myself. I reached for his arm where it met with his shoulder and he, wary of my touch, dissipated under it like sea foam before I could make contact.

"Take the watch," his velveted voice scraped me raw and I nodded like a dumb beast. Then he was gone from me and I watched him until all I could see was the top of his head among the remaining crew.

Had I not felt obedient before, the command coming from him would have been enough to push me to do as he bid if only to be allowed to please him. Without consideration, I climbed; ignoring the sound of ropes being thrown to the lowest yardarm on the mizzen behind. Above them all, I found the small platform at the upper arm and gripping the rigging, looked out to the deceitful sea. She stretched around us like a great blanket, rolling under us with the wind, yet further out of sight, black as ink in the growing darkness. To the east, stars began ferreting their way out through the firmament to gleam down upon us and I ignored the panicked sense of impending death that drifted up to me from below. I had felt death many a time by that moment. I had felt the despair of it in those men swept overboard. I had felt the surprise of it in Cook's murder. Now I felt the unfairness of it in the hanging of two men whose only fault was their overwhelming need to survive just a day longer; whose wish to make it home had overridden their honor and forced upon them the desire for the water left to us all.

When it came twice again, it did not shake me. And I did not weep. Instead, I kept my eyes upon that place on the horizon where darkness and blackness met and where the stars began to wink into being, one after the other, displacing the now absent sun.

Thus, I kept with the night until dawn. My watch extended long due to lack of man power, I found that as the moon rose I could see the helm. And it was there he stood. The object of my mirrored obsession. For as the captain tried to ignore his need for Heero, so had I attempted to ignore my desire for the ship's mystery, for that green eyed sea man. But no longer. That night I came to an acceptance and instead of watching the horizon dutifully, found myself watching his form. He stood, silver, clad in moonlight, a wraith born from the ocean's depths, rolling with the grace of the waves as he turned the helm and then chained it, looking now and again seaward with compass.

The moon set hours before. The sun rose and I gazed out to it, blinding myself with it's rays, yet too exhausted and resigned to my coming doom to attempt to fall into it again. The rigging shuddered under me and I looked down as my relief reached me.

"Heero?"

He grunted his reply and indicated the ropes below us. Again obedient, I climbed down. Upon reaching the deck, I stood, fingers tangled in the rat netting, gazing up at where he was with his one leg dangling over the edge. Bemused by how everything was changing, I made my way to the galley, stopped at the realization that Cook was not there. I paused, looking around myself, lost.

Theo remained against the mast, his eyes closed and his face pale. Above us, not far enough that peripheral vision could ignore, two pair of feet dangled and the crew was unusually quiet as they worked. The sound of a chicken cackling after she'd laid her egg broke some of the stillness yet as soon as she'd ended her exultant cry, the silence fell more heavily than before upon us all.

I was startled by a sound to my side of chains hitting boards, muffled, coming from the brig. Surprised out of the haze of shock and exhaustion that had settled upon me, I went to the open hatchway and gazed down the ladder.

"Wufei!" I watched, amazed further as the ex-first mate crawled up the hatchway ladder and stood in the new sunshine, rubbing at his wrists. "But.. how.."

Another shape emerged, until now unrecognized, and I stared into one quiet, undisturbed eye of sea green. My… sailor. The one whom I had found my gaze returning to over and over again. He watched me for what seemed an eternity and I felt my entire body, every cell, screaming to touch him. Almost. Almost I took a step forward to do just that. But Wufei moved and jostled me.

At first I was foolish enough to think he could see my intentions and was angry at my actions toward Trowa. But I came to realize a moment later that he had swayed and almost fallen. Reaching out, I steadied him against my side where he leaned, breathing heavily, his head down. Then in a rasping voice, much ill-used, he stated, "I… can cook…"

What good would that do? One more day's worth of cooking? How inane had we become? I looked up for Trowa's face, hoping to ascertain his reasoning, yet he had already gone, melted back into the ranks of men moving around upon the upper deck.

"We… we have almost no water," I hesitantly offered, "But there might be something you can do. Come." I helped him to the galley. There I fed him some hard tack and a tiny sip of the water. We had, as I had suspected, enough to last for this day and that was all. And when he'd eaten and drunk he seemed much revived. The work within the storm after having been so long interned below decks had made him weak. Yet his fortitude amazed me.

He did not speak to me and I must admit to not having had much in the way of polite conversation. But our situation did not call for such niceties. Instead he stood and began work within Cook's kitchen, stoking a fire and setting the oven to work. And within the cradling of those now familiar sounds, I fell to sleeping, folding my arms upon the table and pillowing my head on them.

It was the mid-afternoon mark when I woke to the sound of the galley door closing. Jerking upright, I found myself alone, yet there was a congealed bowl of porridge, the fat now cold at its top, beside my elbow. I ate, not caring for the concerns of my palette but rather needing to fill my stomach. It was hard, cooked with only enough water to make it edible, but it was food and I had missed the breaking of my fast in the morning. Besides, with the storm and all of the effects of it after, mealtimes no longer fell under the regulations of any particular hour of the day. Rather, when it was put before me, I suspect I ate.

Rising from my place at the table, I stepped out of the galley and almost ran into Wufei. He stood, legs splayed, arms across his chest, facing the deck with his face a stone mask. In hand and across his chest he held a slender blade, something I think many would have laughed at. I have since learned it was a formidable weapon, well capable of slicing a full grown man's body into two. Still, it may not have been so much the blade but the look of cold regard upon the man's face that put off the rest. I did not delude myself into thinking they kept away from him for sake of some love borne. We had moved past all things related to such human characteristics and were now, fully entrenched in animalistic need for survival.

He closed the door behind after I had left the galley. I nodded an acknowledgment towards him and made my way out upon the decking, watching the movement round about. What Wufei was doing there, I now could guess. The water was at short supply and now and again I felt the rising fear and anger at his presenting himself as stopper to any who might have wished to take more than their share. He was guarding our most precious of commodities, for what little gain, I cannot say. We were not in any hopes of reaching land for another week or more, depending on the winds. Man cannot live without his water.

"Now then," a soft, dangerous purr slid around me and I moved back without thinking into a row of goods barrels in time to watch the captain slink out of the shadows along the stern. Transfixed by his insanity, I found I could only watch the scene which had begun to take place. "We begin, do we?"

Many of the men had other things to do, there was no lack of tasks. The ship was in disrepair, her sails full with wind, her rigging groaning at the pressure upon it. There were ropes to replace, boards to add, sides to shore up. The men, however, remained lingering about right then. A preternatural silence fenced us in, making us captive to the captain's horrifying play. Outside, the crash of wave, the sough of wind. Within, the slither of leather cord over the planking, the soft labored breathing of a man tied to the mast, and the almost intimate brush of cloth as before me, the captain drew his body taut.

I could see Theo's face where I stood. He was pale under the seaman's tan. His hands gripped the rope by which he was bound so tightly that his knuckles stood out white.

Not far from where he was bound, the captain stood, half naked and bare soled. His toes spread out to grip the deck. He preparee himself for some further turn into darkness as he coiled the wicked looking leather into his hands, the ends of which were divided into nine sections of a more slender leather, corded at the ends of each serpent like tail.

I had heard of the cat of nine tails before this. It was a horrific vehicle of persuasion, more often used on one's enemies than one's crew. Men had died by its touch upon their back. Though to be fair, I must note that such stories also state that in such rare cases of death, it is when each of the nine ends is not so corded as this one was, but have bound to each a piece of metal shard or glass. And all are reported to have been in the hands of an unduly cruel and mad captain. I cannot say that our captain was cruel as easily as I can explain his madness. Cruelty is a far more ambiguous sensation and often those who seem most cruel, are most kind.

The first crack of the whip brought silence in its wake. Then a moment later, like a shocked echo, Theo's ragged cry of pain. All too soon following, another crack of whip upon his back. This one corresponded with another ragged scream bit off midway. Theo was trying to control his reaction. He had succeeded in biting off this one half way finished and did not make another sound after. There was only the now far away sound of wind, wave, heartbeat, and a frightening recognizable grunt of human exertion as the captain put himself to his task

I have not mentioned in my account the fact that I was privy to more nights in the Babe's Book where the captain came to his slave and took his pleasure. I have failed in this respect for the memory is not one for good company. So it pains me now to bring it up, that such sounds from the captain as he was lost to his desire to break Theo's spirit, brought to mind other times where he'd attempted to break another's spirit. Though of course, at the time I could not say if it were his own spirit or Heero's he was attempting to crush those black nights.

I had found such moments troubling. But never so much so as I did at that particular moment. Until then, I had had my night visitor, the - and I could accept the facts without relief of my guilt - saving grace from the Oin Sa Marne. But without such protection, I found memory played havoc with my mind and I was split between the two, captured in the maelstrom of the captain's internal torment coupled with the numbing and forgetful pain that clinched Theo's mind.

Listening to the whip tearing across Theo's unprotected back, overwhelmed by the sensations of mind that swept over my head with much the same lack of concern as the waves had rolled over the deck earlier, I found myself blindly reaching for support. My fingers brushed skin. Warmth trembled under my grasp as I gripped cloth and an arm. But my hand quickly let go for at the touch, brief as it was, blessed coolness trailed into my body and swept clear the worst of the haze I had begun to lose myself to. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from making more sound than the choked gasp I could hear in my mind. Was he here? Was he… Had he returned? Even now? When I needed him so desperately?

I was restored, not to my greater abilities but to a semblance of control over the instability of mind in which I'd discovered myself. I was again within reach of my self. My eyes cleared and I looked around.

I had apparently stumbled back from the cargo barrels, and was now returned to the door leading into the galley. I reached again, trying to find the stillness and my fingers found skin hot enough to burn, yet there was emptiness within instead of the healing waves of cool peace from before. My fingers tightened. The arm did not move. With a sigh, I turned to my rescuer and met with sloe dark eyes, a face faintly tinged with impending death, and a dragon quick slash of a mouth.

"You… you guard.. the water…" I croaked, staring at Wufei even as my heart fell in disappointment so keen it left an iron taste in my mouth.

His eyes narrowed and he shook his head. "There is no water." His voice ground out like stones pressed too close to one another. There was little room for his words.

"Then… why?" I asked, holding to his quiet. It was not the coolness of before, but it was a silence made by a self control that transcended all others. At that point of time, I could not know if the freeing from that brutal fog of before had been real or no. Neither did I attend to the continuation of the whipping. I could not. Yet something, deep within, was counting the number of falls. _12…13…14…_

He did not meet my eyes much longer, but looked instead at the vision I was trying to escape. He said nothing of my grip being too tight on his skin though I was sure I was leaving bruises. "Because no one must know."

It made a twisted, confusing sense. While we still thought there to be water, men would continue to strive to be safe, to live. Without, we would have lost all hope, lost all reason to persevere. It…

Weaver, that whipping! I looked out beyond Wufei's stoic profile to the sea, placid and uncaring, as if we were nothing more than bugs upon a platter. Waves broke here and there, but the wind was not harsh. Enough disruption of her surface to made for a grayish green color throughout and above the sky remained clear with a smatter of clouds above.

My mind thus occupied, I almost missed the holler from above. Heero, not a man of much voice, had nevertheless managed to put out a fair enough alarm.

"Ware!" he cried, the whip falling silent at his call. "Ware! Tis a black flag!"

Chapter 9:

((Not all sharks are those with fins. The ship tries to find sanctuary and Quatre seeks to come to terms with his inner state without the aid of his sea borne lover))

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((_Okay! Wow… chapter eight. Half way there now! And I have come to hate this chapter. It is one of those necessary, poorly executed, I-have-no-idea-how-to-make-this-all-work chapters, if you could not tell. Hopefully this will not happen again. -LOL- But one good thing has come about because of this. I've come to dimly realize the agony professional writers must go through during their rewrite process. I am - however - not a professional writer and never will be. Therefore, I'm going to sort of let it be as is, with some small work at fixing it. And I'll let the apology stand. I know it's shite, and I'm sorry. Please don't lynch me or my story._

_For anyone interested in stories like this, only wanting to read something of a far, far greater quality, go grab Sea Wolf at your local library. Written by Jack London, that story will put you well into the view of a gentleman captured and forced upon a ship, to learn the ropes, so to speak, and come to terms with the very different morality of the sea folk. : ) Wow, but it's amazing! I picked it up to learn a bit more about sailing and such. And I'm struck by his writing and the simple imagery in everything he puts down. Definitely one of the better sea books out there. Yay! _

_Tri: You know? I think I'll just roll over and show my tummy next time you send a review in. Heh. My gosh, talk about strokes:Happy Author: And yes.. if I had quotes of Coleridge, I'd have quoted him for this chapter (what a swift mind you have! I can tell our evil muses are going the same direction). Isn't it terrible? And it's only going to get worse, if things go according to plan! Heh. It gives me chills of delight! _

_Ms Manga: I'm SO sorry it's taken me so long! I've been battling a lowered immune system thingie. Blech. But yes.. all of my fics will be finished I hope! I just have gone a lot slower of late. Heh. I'm glad you're confused. I've been confused (and still am somewhat) as to exactly what is going on. So if you knew what was going on, then we'd REALLY be in trouble! Hee hee._

_Harmony Glory: Thank you for the luck! A little bit goes a long way. Thank you too, for the nice words of encouragement! Yay! _

_Tidd: Be careful about the edge of seats.. they're dangerous places to be! You can fall! ; ) _

_GoldenRat: Eek! Oh dear. I hope that not knowing what is going on is a good thing and not a "Hellooo? A little bit less convoluted please?" Let me know if I need to tighten up a bit! _

_Topoisomerase: And after all of that how can I not tell you who the secret shadowy lover person is? Hmm? I'd have to be heartless! Or just plain evil. Or something equally bad (like an overly sweet cherry topping on a perfectly good cheesecake :shudder: Some things are just plain wrong). But no… no, I'll not say! Ack! I can't! It'd be wronger-er! Heh. I do have to say, not all will be evident by the end. But I can assure you, I'm a huge hater of sad endings. Though I have been known to do them. I still love a good ending. It's kind of a reward to the characters for having put up with all of the terrible strife an author can throw one through. So hopefully, things will turn out for the best! _

_Sabby:Hee hee: Well, turn up your heat, I'm sure that'd be the culprit. But if you're still shivering, then let me know! Oooo… nothing better than to feel the powah, so to speak. Yes! Yes! I'm so very sorry for taking so long. It's been forever and things just don't go as quickly of late for me. I'm either getting older or the days are getting shorter. One or the other._

_Eastside: Awww.. thank you! I don't mind it being brilliant. Hee hee_

_DragonUK: Ooo! You tried a 3x4! Y'know? The pairing isn't really my favorite either, but then.. heck, they were the only ones that would work. And I have to admit, it wasn't intended it as more than a backdrop for a prevailing 1x2. But then, that's what you get for starting a one shot that isn't going to be one no matter how hard one tries to force it into one. Heh. Ah well. I'm glad you're enjoying it! It's fun to write! _))


	9. Madness at Bay

((_Very sorry for the wait on this chapter! My hope is that it is worth the wait._))

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Chapter 9: Madness at Bay 

Black flag.

The sound of the whip ceased, men turned, eyes gazing out onto the horizon where a ship seemingly sat, hovering on the line between sea and sky. It was far from us just yet, but there was little doubt that it would catch us sooner or later. We had been severely crippled both in man power, food stores, and simple rent canvas and the like, besides our lack of water.

Many ships are at a disadvantage when it comes to outrunning sea-borne thievery. Their ships often are lighter, smaller, with larger sails, proving to outdistance any merchant frigate. And adding to that, the time spent learning how, and in what ways, one can easily follow another ship?

The silence stretched. We all, as one, peered into the distance, attempting to capture sight of the tell-tale black flag at the top. At more than a week from any land, there was little chance of not being overrun. They hadn't even tried to fool the watch. Instead, it seemed almost as if they had in mind a bit of a chase, just for the fun of it, perhaps.

The captain, obviously seeing no reason to go straight to panic quite yet, looped his whip about his elbow and wrist with a meditative gesture. Holding the nine tails loosely in his palm, he turned and I watched him hand the black coil over to the golden hands of the green eyed sailor before spitting on his palms and casually begin to scale the rigging.

It seemed almost a dream, the way he so calmly took the news. His arms moved like satin over water as he rolled from side to side, body weight swinging while he climbed languidly upwards. I watched him go the entire way, my face to the rising sun, until I could see him flip over the crow's ledge at the high point on the mast. Then I sighed, looking down at the still silent crew.

The lack of water, the death of crew members, the destruction of our poor limping ship. This was but another nail upon a coffin it seems we had been fated to fall into from the first. Not a man could have denied his sense of the inevitable. What mattered if we were gutted like pigs upon the blades of a pirate? It was a quicker death than the one we were up against. Nothing is worse to a man than dying from thirst. I have heard tale of it. And I have heard of those who have narrowly escaped it. And we were facing the very possibility of its truth in our own miserable lives.

Trowa went aft and stepped down into the hold door that led to where the crew slept. I do not know what he did with the whip, but I did not see it again, the rest of our voyage. Yet seeing him with it, reminded me of the man it had been used on. With a gasp, I left Wufei's side and quickly made my way to the place where Theo had been bound.

He was quiet, his eyes closed and his breathing coming in small gasps. Men around me, coming to as if from some deep slumber, broke from their places and went to help me. A dagger was passed at one point and with it, I cut his bindings. Then holding his head, myself and four other men, silently brought him to the Babe's Book, now empty of anything but the gold and tapestries left behind by Heero and myself. We had no time anymore for such frivolities as sleep and rest.

The men paused, obviously not having seen the inner bounds of the room, aghast at the furnishings.

"Come.. into this room," I prodded them verbally and guided them into my room, having them lay Theo upon my bunk.

"Didn't know it were so …" one of the men murmured but did not finish. I looked up at them and they were gazing both about my own room but more so at the room without.

"It is richly served," I acknowledged their awe and then stood, leaving Theo for a moment's time. "Go. There will be a call to move soon." I said it, but not a one of us believed it worth our effort, so that the men made their way because they were expected to. Not for sake of any sense of self-preservation.

After closing the door to the main room, I sank down beside Theo and took his hand, not knowing what else to do. His eyes opened and he looked at me, then gazed about the room with a groan.

"Here be where th'curse lies," he muttered so low I almost did not hear him.

"Yes," I agreed. "And it is the quietest place for you now."

"Don't wish ter be in sich'a place, really," he said, staring at me with eyes that saw his own death.

It frightened me and I pulled my hand away, curling it up against my chest in the cup of my other palm. I narrowed my eyes. "But you cannot move right now. There are other things happening." I wondered about telling him what plight we were in now and briefly considered keeping it from him. It would not serve him any good, would it?

In the end, however, I could not keep secrets from him. He saw through me as he had so often before, a trait that now I know had endeared him to me, as if he were some manner of man such as myself, able to read the minds and hearts of others.

"Other things?" he asked.

"A black flag has been sighted, from whence we have come. It follows us and does not hide itself."

He laughed then, weakly. "What reason have they ter hide? We kinna do much else ter outrun a worm eaten dory at th'moment, can we?"

He was right and I did not need to say otherwise.

"The captain?" Theo inquired.

"He's in the rigging, watching her approach yet." I hadn't heard his call yet to warn me of his having decided on orders.

"And the crew?"

I shrugged listlessly. "The ones that are alive," I put to him with a touch of spite in my voice, "are waiting their fate."

"Hunh," he grunted and closed his eyes.

"Wufei is cooking now," I said, wanting to give him some… hope? What a foolish thing, I realized it right after I had said it. "And Heero is not here any longer. He is out with the rest of the crew."

Theo was not fooled and he nodded slightly, wincing with the pain. "We've not enuff men ter sail. We'll be needin' them. T'was wise o'th captain."

"It makes a strange sort of sense, talking of the captain's wisdom when his madness has destroyed us," I could not contain my bitterness, yet had no one to direct it towards.

"Us too," Theo would not let his captain take all of the blame.

I sighed, nodding. "Yes, we as well."

"Has… has…" Theo ventured timidly, "he… returned?"

His eyes were closed so he did not see me shake my head. At my silence, his hand rose and he cracked open a gaze to me. I dare say my expression said more than words ever could have. No. The Oin Sa Marne hadn't returned. I'd hoped for his return and he hadn't. come back to me, to us. The luck of the Sea Folk had proved far greater than the luck in my hair. And the lack of it had hit us harder than either of us had supposed it might.

"Ah," he breathed sadly and closed his eyes once more.

I left him there, going to the upper deck where I watched the horizon and that foreign ship with the crew.

Some men leaned on the aft starboard rail, staring out over the waves. Others leaned out from the lower rigging, like strange monkeys, their long arms and legs curled around ropes and their tattered robing hooked around their waists falling back like broad flat tails, caught up around their knees.

I leaned against the main mast and looked up as many others did at the sight of the captain descending. He came down close enough to me so that I might have reached out and touched him. But he did not notice me. His eyes retained the feverish light that they had caught afire with during the whipping of Theo and his voice was low, an undercurrent that brought their hairs on my arms to attention and forced a chill into my spine.

"Won't let them take'm, damn'm.." he was saying, his eyes glittering as he swept a glance over his crew. "Damnable sea, we'll be taken to her bosom before I let them touch one hair on his head. He's mine, damn them.. he's mine, and there'll be no having him otherwise."

Men who overheard looked about and found Heero's figure against the sky, peering down over, his shoulders hunched as if something had occurred high over our heads. I have little doubt that up in that crow's nest, the makings of a tragedy we could not even consider possible at the time and which would come to fruition later in our journey had been set into motion.

The captain landed with his feet solid on the deck. "Now then!" he called out to us all. "To the ropes, men!"

While he sounded out solid and sane, there was no doubt in looking upon him that sanity had lost it's hold. He called to us from a calm which swept through us all and forced us into submission. We went about, obedient to his commands. We even worked hard for those commands. He could have been a man with his head to the gale, forging a way for us all, standing strong as he did, there at the wheel, with his maps and his navigational compass. And perhaps he was providing us a means to escape. It was this certainty that insanity brought to him which caused a new hope to be borne in the crew. Many felt he must know what they themselves did not.

Let it be said, however, that during that day, we sailed as we'd not sailed before. And I do not attribute that to hope, but to the power of our captain. And while we were at a distinct disadvantage, due to our lacks, we still remained a good deal ahead of the following ship. But as night began to fall and the captain locked his wheel so that he might again chart, there was no doubt as to our being captured by morning light.

Wufei served us dinner of hard biscuit and dried fish. Little of it was salted, but it was less so than the pork. Eggs were cooked into the fish and we ate better than we had for a long time. We hadn't much time left and still enough food for a week, there seemed little reason to waste it on thieves and pirates.

We all ate as one man, sitting on the deck, leaning against coils of rigging, barrels of food and supplies, and watching the light fail. The captain remained above us at the helm, like some watchful guardian. His braid danced freely on the breeze as a seperate part of him and he gripped the railing at times, leaning out with glass to look at our pursuers.

Then, with an order to turn out the lamps and plunge our ship to the dusky velvet of new night, we made for our beds. There was little we could do so late into the night and but for a few men who remained on watch, we all took to the underbellies before the blackness could close over us completely.

- - - - - - - - - - -

My room was in darkness, but for a sliver of moonlight which fell across my lap. I sat, propped against my chest of drawers, my hands clasping the shell of my now defunct midnight visitor. It, alone, was all that remained of that quieter time. I had been so exhausted that I did not even dream, nor did the far off dreams of the crew invade my slumber. Yet despite this, I woke easily at the touch on my arm.

Looking up and into the silver beams, I noted that Heero had an almost ghostly complexion. I thought I could see about him, something called sailor's fire, clinging to him. It rose off of his brow and shot in wild fantastic draping whorls about him like a halo of silver. It seemed some distant warning of what was to come; my heart leapt in fear for him and I reached out to touch him, reassure myself he was still alive.

He drew back from the light of the window, his eyes glancing at my hand as he did so with a look of loathing. I was not sure who he hated then, for it did not seem to me that I could sense it directed primarily at myself. Heero was one of the more guarded of men and I rarely was able to read from him anything but pain. What was beyond that pain remaining difficult to decipher.

"What?" I asked into the quiet, careful not to waken Theo.

His hand flashed in the light, a gesture to come. I rose, following him through the black of the rooms, tripping over what I think may have been a footstool, on my way out.

On the deck, Heero guided me toward the aft deck and pointed upward. Above us, at the helm, my green eyed sailor stood, his hands taut about the wooden bow of the wheel, his hair driven about by wind. He was beautiful, flashing like some precious ring or bracelet and I did not even think before I mounted to where he stood and came alongside him, drawn by his very need of me. It was glorious, being needed by one such as he.

I was close to him and had not given a second thought to Heero, who I did not even note the time he left. There were greater things to ponder. My sailor and his eyes keeping watch out toward the sea ahead. The sails clapped a gentle applause of his use of the winds and he seemingly did not even notice me. Perhaps, I came to think, it was all a dream. I might reach out and touch him and be along his side. My hands rose to take the wheel, wanting to slip between his arms and head our keel into some distant, glorious horizon, but he looked at me then and I was halted with that action alone.

"I need you to take the watch," he said. In the hovering shimmery darkness, his words sounded intimate as no other's words have since. "Keep an eye toward the north." He pointed upwards and my eye followed the aquatic line of his arm to where a star shone. "That heading," he added. Then, confident in my understanding his purpose, he went back to watching the sea ahead.

I could do nothing more than obey. And as I climbed into the rigging, I noted others coming from below decks, all bidden by Heero. They floated from the holds like wraiths, silent and awaiting orders. It felt uncommonly as if we were men, preparing for a war that not one of us could win.

And in the crow's nest, feeling as if more than just a simple heading were at risk, I refused to look down for a glimpse of him. I knew, had I done so, I would not have been able to watch the horizon, nor the star I kept to my view.

Behind us, I could see the soft light of a stern lantern, shining upon the water. The following ship remained still a goodly ways behind, but she was closing in and the night, due to the moon's low position at the far edge of the sky, was a ways yet into being. We had many hours of starlight yet to combat.

Or did we? Nothing happened for an hour, yet before us, it seemed we were running into haze. An uncommon fog rose upon the water and I lost track of my star as the last of the moonlight was swallowed by the tumbled cloud cover. Mist clung to my arms and legs and I shivered with the chill. Then, a quiet whisper in our rigging and as if an order had been given in a low voice, one which I could not hear from my vantage, I felt the ship underneath list and we tacked to the south.

Again, sails fluttered when they lost the wind and catching it again, filled with the soft gentle touch of our steady air. And we sailed on.

I, not knowing much of sailing, did not realize the strangeness of our actions, though now I understand. With the cover of the clouds, we had turned not only away from the path we'd been on, but also away from our trail toward Ulica. Of course, the storm had blown us somewhat off course to begin with. But Ulica still would have proved a far better direction to go than to head around the side of Moon Arle which was closer but had no safe ports on it's northern tip. We were heading almost due south, far from the heading of earlier, and proving to add a great deal of time to our already shortened voyage. And in the shape of our ship and our crew, it would do no more than put our pursuers off of our trail, who would have assumed we might take to the water some ten miles down and then change directions once more, making our way towards Kin's Isle perhaps.

Instead, we kept to the course we set. And with the haze drifting about us and the sound of rigging, I waited out the night until light had touched the sky so briefly that I could only see it's muted division upon the top of the haze.

I looked for my star, for the sky remained dark yet in that predawn. More so because of my orders and that they had finally come to be slightly visible. Near the heading of that star, far off, I noted a distant light that, when the sun rose, might have proven to be our pursuers, a good many miles off and to the side. But then, finding the star, I discovered directly underneath it, a place where the dusk-touched horizon did not quite match so well against the sky.

Tense with anticipation, I dropped through the rigging, somehow, not surprised to find men asleep along the deck, waiting orders to waken and leap to the sails. At the helm still, Trowa steered us straight.

"Trowa!" I called quietly, not having time to feel the perfection of his name. I clambered up alongside him and pointed toward that star, not hidden beneath the haze. "Land. There is something! I think it is land!"

He glanced down upon me, his eyes gleaming in the darkness and nodded, once. Then a low whistle broke from him and he jerked his head up to the rigging once more. "How close to the star? Right or left?"

"All but directly under. It is merely a finger's breadth to the right perhaps." I could barely contain my excitement, hearing men rising from the decking behind, the soft whisper of canvas and wind.

"Heero," Trowa said softly, his voice carrying despite it's quiet. Heero rose out of the shadow beyond the green eyed man like a blade slim ghost and waited. "Tacking north by north-east. Waken the men." Then he looked again to me and I prepared to do his bidding, every single part of me singing with the joy of having pleased him, knowing that this must please him. "Take the nest once more, Yoedian Arl," he said and I spun from him, diving upwards into the world of ropes, buoyed with an imagined sense of tenderness that I swore I heard in his speech as he gave voice to my name.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Dawn found us within reach of a small island. Its lush forests roamed down to the edges of great, volcanic cliffs and here and there, in one of many protected bays, the gleam of sand could be seen. The tack we rode kept the island between ourselves and where I imagined the ship of thieves to be.

Under the direction of Trowa and a good deal of sea-luck, we followed the coast at a dangerously close distance, until we saw a place where the cliffs dove down but were broken on either side. Tumbling into the water almost vertically, the cliffs, as we found by sending men in a long boat, went deep and it created a small pocket against the island's side where we might anchor the ship.

Men drew oars out and put to, half of us within the ship, while another ten of the men kept to the long boat. Using sounding lines, they directed the ship through and into the small cut in the cliffs. There, we anchored safely to wait the day out in a pocket of basalt out of sight of both land and sea.

Men remained on the decks during that longest of days, watching the sea tumble past on its way to the hidden shore. We were unable to see the island from where we sat, surrounded on three sides by high, black rock. The sun beat down here and reflected off of the walls above our heads. Many of us could do no more than lay in shade or quietly mend canvas. All of us wanted nothing more than to go into one of the long boats and make our way to the green foliage which we could not see, and there, find water. But the captain's insanity did not yet make room for poor judgment. He was wary of pursuit and thus we were to remain until it turned to eventide.

Thankfully, evening did draw near and the remaining long boats were filled with empty casks for water as well as various hunting implements for finding wild game, for replenishing our mast hoard, and other necessary tasks. Then all but Theo, Wufei, Heero, and a guard set to the three of them, were loaded into the boats and we made our way around the cliff side and into the bay beyond. It was a calm bay and we quickly made our way to the glistening silver shore.There, we shoved the boats up to where the undergrowth was nearest the shore and laid our goods out under the shade of the wood.

The first matter of business was the finding of water. This task proved easily done, for there was a stream which erupted from a small break in the trees and we all drank our fill. Then we set ourselves in a heap between water and forest. The captain sent water back to the ship and two men with orders to give water and to return in the morning for food. As for the rest of us, we slept the night with the wild just within our reach and did not concern ourselves with eating now that our bodies were filled with water.

The following day consisted of refilling the casks and taking them to the ship. A small group of men went up into the woods to both hunt and to find a high place from which they might see if we still were pursued. It was likely, that by the heading of the other boat, they had passed our small island without even seeing it. The haze had not burned off of the water for a good many hours after day break, the day before then. But still, we needed to be certain.

The rest of us went to work chopping down another set of masts as well as setting snares and gathering fruit and broad leaves from the plants there. There was not much those of us native to the sea were unaccustomed to. This was our world, the world of the Sea Folk, and we knew every plant that grew there, many of us having been raised on much of the produce of the wood as children.

One would think that I was relieved at leaving the ship behind. And while it is true I did find some measure of relief, it was but a measure. The joy of the men was as overwhelming as their despair had been. They were not blind to the ranging of their captain, like a lion with a broken jaw, hungry and malnourished, he paced between the lines of our work, on the outside almost right within himself, yet his eyes blazed and one didn't need my senses to know how he was no longer the man they had begun their journey with.

For me that feeling was far worse. The captain's mad quest for what he sought followed me, biting my heels like hounds, swarming at my face like gnats. It was maddening in itself, by the nature of itself. I had only to be within eyesight of him and his dull and red tortured mind would leave gaping wounds upon my sensibilities. I tired quickly due to the strain and at more than one occasion looked toward the forest with longing. Had I been home, I would have sought the peace within those trees and I would not have returned until my heart was my own again.

Yet, at home, I could tramp across hillocks and be at ease. Here my way was the accursed ship floating in the bay. I was bound to it by my desire to see my fields and the faces of those I loved once again. Madness would be my way and I was driven to hold to my self and shield as I could in ways I'd never needed to before.

Perhaps it was my purported luck, though I do not think so now that time has passed, the team which had gone to find us food came back with their hands full yet with no news whatsoever. They dropped their bounty upon the sands and it was a goodly one. Beasts both large and small had been captured, some alive and some dead, depending on the means of my people and by the wisdoms of others. Our sands became a roiling mass of mankind and animal stench. Fires were begun now that afternoon was upon us, and dry wood which would not smoke was used to begin a cooking for the bodies of some of the catch. But their lack of information angered the captain and he shouted for another crew to go and do better at the task.

Trowa, the silent sailor of my haphazard dreaming, chose the men, pointing them out across the sands to a large, darkened skinned Halidian man whom I recall as having a name such as Fin or Shark or some such sea-like name. Only because I was taking note of Trowa did I notice myself being chosen as well and I went obediently to where men congregated.

"Th' first mate says yer luck," the sailor said to me with an eye upon me as if he were not altogether certain of the truth of it. But I could not blame him his view of me. I had brought nothing with me to save our voyage and if anything, the voyage had become far more ill fated than before I was found. Therefore, I did not respond, merely inclined my head.

Taking this as a positive, the man narrowed his eyes at me, looking my slight form over and my pinched mouth. I had not eaten yet as had none of his team that were chosen. "Best keep up," he groused and picking up his bundles and his weapons, called out to us all.

We were a group of five when we entered the forest. And we found our leader to not be as cruel as our captain. He allowed us to stop when we found food and over the next few hours we took in small bites here and there of berries, mushrooms, roots, and other items that one or the other of us would recognize. A nest of eggs was enough for each of us to have one and helped greatly.

I think also, that he was chosen appropriately for time and again, he'd have myself or another of the men scale the great trees and look out to make note of where the great cliff our ship hid within was. He would take no chance of getting turned around and losing our way either to the middle of the island or back. He often shouted out landmarks for us to all take note of.

While we came across much life, game and otherwise, we did not forage. It was not our duty at the moment. Rather we scaled the edge of the island in an attempt to make it to the top of a tri peak we could see above us. Unsure of how large the island was, of how many hills we might have to climb, we took it easily, never once pushing beyond the slowest of our company which belied his earlier comments to me for I was often this one whom the others waited on.

Still, the sun was late from noon when we came out of the trees and looked down upon the sea from the depths of a cleared place along the side of the right most peak. Here a landslide had made for a clearing and treetops were too far below to stop our seeing. He took a glass and checked the sea, finding nothing. Then he split us up into three groups, two groups of two, and myself. The other two groups were sent around either side of the peak to try to walk the ridge to the middle mount and the other to walk to the other side of our current peak. I was to climb to the top of the one we were on and look about at the top, see if we were clear upon the other side. Though it was stated rather blithely, that it was just as likely I would not see anything but another mountain or my sight would be hampered by the expanse of land.

I had no glass with me but there had only been one glass to begin with. It was not a complaint I could make. And I did not expect that a far off ship would be of any concern to us anyway. I was to look for something closer.

Walking up a mountain is not an easy task, as any who have done so can attest to. It was more difficult for me in that while I had had water and had fed some, I was still weak from the ordeal of the last week. My body struggled against this new task, like and yet so unlike the quick bursts of energy required to scale rigging. Though, while climbing, I found it amusing to realize that while I was worn and felt terribly doing the task, I was also far more able than I'd ever been before in my life.

I have always been of a slight stature. I had come to believe, along with my family and my people, that my slenderness was a result of my lack of strength. Feeling that it was my lot in life to never be a strong man, I had never truly chosen to do anything to further my physical abilities and instead, had gone toward the more genteel pursuits; those of writing, riding, music, poetry, sciences.

Thus a walk such as this, under the duress I had truly been under, would have been inconceivable to me only months before. Yet here I did it, albeit with a great deal of difficulty, yet with a steadiness that came of more than simply will power.

The top of the peak being bare, the last twenty five feet of climb was up a steep cliff. I labored to the top and there, bent over a flat rock and then lay upon my back, feeling the rush of accomplishment run through me. Exhilarated, I laughed then. My head back and my mouth open, I practically screamed mirth to the skies in much the heathenish way that those from New Hartlin would expect of me. The laughter, hysterical I dare say, mixed with tears and above the sea and the rest of the world, fully alone for the first time in weeks, I wept into my arms.

Then, weeping will not last and it was not yet sundown when I rose to do my work. I stood upon the rock I had soaked with tears and looked about me. Beyond, I could see where the cliffs dove into the sea, the secluded cove we had hidden within. Certain that I had seen the pirate's ship to the north, I turned then to look about what ocean I could spy from my vantage point.

It was quiet where I stood with only the wind as my companion. I can say that much. I also saw no sails nor flags nor signs of others on the waters. Granted, it had been a full day and our pursuers had a vast sea to search. With the haze, it is quite possible that the position of the island was lost to their sight. Or that they had chosen then to hide and look for our flight path. Still, without glass, I could not see anything of import with the naked eye and feeling I'd done my job to satisfaction, I sat and instead, enjoyed the silence.

It is that silence I recall even now. There was a freshness to it, a clarity it brought. Upon that rock, above the world, I could see further than ever before. By this I do not mean in sight, but in mind. I had begun to lose my perspective upon that ship. There, with the world at my feet, all seemed so far from me. My home, New Hartlin, the ship.

One thing felt certain, beyond the truth of self that I had unwittingly been struggling with without knowing. That was the lack of luck or unluck for this voyage. We, each of us, were creating it. I had so long known better than to live my life based on superstition. There was a reasonable explanation, though it be touched at the edges by mysticism, for all of my experiences heretofore. I had only to accept it or inspect it, then to move on.

I cannot say now why that thought seemed so new to me. I had long been a student of philosophies and logic. Yet somehow, during my stay at New Hartlin and then later, my internment upon the ship, I had begun to forget. And now that I had clarity, I chose to go back over my experiences.

It is true that the voyage was ill-fated. I could believe that. Yet atop that mountain, I attributed this to the cruelty of the sea and the madness of our captain. The crew were but men, striving to make do without certain direction. I was not quite certain then how I might have come to protect myself from the now rampant insanity that lay atop the captain's mind. It was but a week, possibly two, before we met up with the islands. And then I decided that protection might not be necessary. Nor was it something I had any control over. The captain ruled our lives on the waves. Granted, I could run there, on that island. I was no fool. I could have easily lost myself in the forests and lived a happy, though lonely existence.

When we arrived however, I was resolved to do what I could for Wufei. I did not think then that there was any chances I could go unnoticed and unknown. I had not been gone so long and my family had a great deal of influence upon the other islands. Our produce often kept the sailing ships upon the waters and all of my family were almost as recognizable as the higher families. In a large market, I knew I'd see someone I knew and then be able to contrive a means to become free. It was, in my mind, a logical short time before I was with my family again. Therefore, upon my freedom, I would need to discover means to free Wufei and Heero if he would have come with me.

Yet in that air, the wind brushing across the back of my neck, I realized what I had not wished to believe. Heero loved his master, so much that he had at some time, agreed to the pain and horrors of his place upon that ship. The mark on his chest made him impossible to purchase and it was very likely that his fate was far more sour a one than mine or Wufei's. No matter the matter, he would always belong to our captain, always belong to Duo Maxwell.

I daydreamed for a pace, thinking of the myriad of scenarios in which I would free Wufei and at times, ways that I might have come to place Heero as well. A sanitarium might have helped Duo, if I were lucky enough. His family was a little known one which I was sure came from a farther island for I had never come in contact with a Maxwell shipping family. Perhaps his father had not the funds to aid his son in healing his mind.

Unwittingly, however, my mind eventually left the childish notes of dreams to ponder the shape I had seen across the window. The Sea Folk. This was not something I could quite make fit logically into my world. I was uncertain that I could have come up with an excuse of how someone or why a man would make his way from outside the ship to my window, climb in, and proceed to help me with my dreams. There was no dismissing the fact that the arms of that unknown man worked as a buffer and a protection against the pain and agony and broken dreamings of those filling the ship with me. As there was also no dismissing the fact the lack of those arms had almost brought about my own madness.

I was not certain, however, that I could completely accept the reality of a sea borne people from which we all, as the folk, had raised. Yet, even then, I wondered that my ability to see into the minds of men would not seem magical to the New Hartlins, had they been aware of it. Truly my Therese had found it fascinating. But then, she had been a woman with a deeply open mind and more than willing to accept many a thing she could not explain. Whereas I had always expected an explanation and had I never had the ability, would have scoffed it into nonexistence without further proof.

I had no conviictions that I could laugh away the presence of something which had been visiting my room, in much the same way I could not put from me the small white shell I kept upon my dressing table in the china dish there.

Putting aside the thoughts of that which I would never understand, I made my way down the side of the cliff, finding a safer passage on the other side of the pinnacle. There, I made my way about until I found I could see the great rock from which we had left, the landmark which was pointed out to me. From there, I made my way toward the clearing and after having almost passed it, found it with the others waiting on me. Not a one of us had seen anything but water and convinced that by the next morning, we would be free to take on the seas again, we began our trek back.

My short time upon the mountain had worked wonders. I look back and attribute it to that sea wind though my mother now wonders it is not a reaffirmation of choice that did it. Returning down the mountain, I only knew that I felt more free and stronger in my self. I carefully focused on the world around me and less on the swirling emotions of the party I was with. And I found I could somewhat block them from myself. I did not think this ability would continue when I returned to the main ship. The purity of dread and anger and fear and twisted, hateful love were too great for me to fight against. But for then, during that walk and our hunting on our way during the coming dusk, I felt at ease for the first time in a long while and believed that perhaps the winds were changing. We might very well return to the islands with no more great tragedies. The Weaver knew, we had had our share already.

If I had only known then that the greatest tragedy was yet to come, perhaps I would never have returned. But not knowing as I do now, I was of a cheerful mind, making way back to the camp.

Chapter 10:

((Sailing home. All is well. But Heero and Wufei remain aboard. It is only a matter of time until all hell very conveniently breaks loose.))

* * *

((_I have to admit to having had this chapter half done for some time. Writing seems to come in small moments of inspiration of late. So forgive me for all the time in between! I'm still working on it! Slow and steady, I suppose works better than the rush of before where all of the world fell away? Though I'd do it if I were able. _

_Thank you all so much for your dedication to this story! I'm amazed at the amount of people who are willing to read my writings. I'm certainly enjoying the ability to put stories to paper and to have the drive to finish them! _

_I've not forgotten Texas Soul (nor any other story, for that matter). That third chapter is much like this story, coming along in fits and starts (over a year, you ask? L). I've just today thought of an idea of where I'm going as I had kind of put myself into a corner with chapter two. _

_And on to the reviews. Yay for you reviewers! You're truly an inspiration. When I'm trying to get up the impulse to write, I need only read reviews and I'm there! Thank you thank you thank you! I can't say thank you enough! _

_: Oh Trowa does seem cold and distant! I agree. He's always been a bit of a different character and while I can't say that this kind of behavior is true to the story, I can say that I'm trying my best to allow him the chance to make Quatre chase after him and let him know for certain that he's needed. : ) Can't help that, can we? _

_Golden Rat: I'm so glad you do like the writing! I have to admit that it's a bit tedious (the writing style) at times to write (which I'm sure makes it tedious to read!), but then, I remind myself it's an experiment, so I'm glad that someone is enjoying it, despite the effort it takes to read! Yay! Thank you for your faithful reviewing! You'd never believe how nice it is to have the same names show up! Gives me a huge smile. _

_Dentelle-noir: Thank you SO much! Wow.. I hadn't noticed that habit of mine, but now that you speak of it, it's cropping up all over the place. I'll certainly work on it! Reminder to self: Specifics! Grah! Specifics! Hee hee. I love the constructive criticism. Even better, the constructive criticism where I can see clearly what is being criticized. Heh. I'm sure there's a psychological masters thesis in there somewhere but I don't think I want to go there. _

_Sabby: It is so marvelous to have someone on the ride with me. Reading along while I write it. I can't tell you how neat that feels! And yes! Another ship, but I didn't go into the pie-rats. I hope that wasn't a let down! Or too much of one. But don't worry. I've got some terrible things to come, I promise! Quatre is not out of the woods just yet (or is that waves?) nor is he safely home. Hee hee. Maybe I'll have to throw some pirates into the story that is hopefully 1x2, after Quat's story ends. We shall see. I'm open to suggestion, considering I've no idea what's going to happen there just yet. Oh! And about the skull thing! I just learned something last week about pirate flags. They were different! Like one pirate had a flag of himself sharing a drink with a skeleton, another had a skull and two muskets under it, and on and on. Reminds me of designer punk-goth clothing. They're all somewhat the same, but they're all so darned individual. Kinda neat that the pirates would have their own distinctive style. I think that is so cool._

_Harlequin Temptation: Two months later! Oh my goodness. I am amazed at the break on this. Thank you so very much for reading this! And yes. I actually have not left the story behind and have all of the chapters in one folder, some with ideas in them, some empty - but with an overview of what will happen. The story is "done" in a manner of speaking so I think I've no true excuse for not finishing it. It will be DONE! Yay! _

_And that's all for now, everyone! I'll see you next chapter! Until then, good luck with studies and families and the upcoming winter and all of that marvelous stuff happening in your lives! And Happy American Thanksgiving! Eat Turkey and Pie! And not necessarily in that order. _

_Memme_))


	10. Madmen, Them All

Chapter Ten: Madmen, Them All 

_I feel I have been as true in my memoirs as I am able. I have spoken at length to any of those with recollection and with whom I still have contact. However, the number of men with whom I shared that fateful voyage is woefully inadequate and I apologize at this time for those things which may seem difficult to understand. It is only now, long after, that I begin to put together what I know and what I recall, and begin attempting to make a semblance of sense from the ordeal._

_Nevertheless, I try even here, to make this understandable to the reader and ask for forgiveness and that one might bear with me. I will do my best to describe the next few days._

_- - _

Our return to the beach was fortuitous. We joined our party loaded with both a small island deer and some large flightless birds we had come across on the way down the mountain side. Dusk, truly being a boon to us, had given many animals a sense of false security and we were far more fortunate than we might have been an hour sooner.

The captain took no notice of our arrival. He stood at the line of demarcation left behind by each passing wave and stared solemnly out at the ship's furled sails. I watched him from where I sat, capable of seeing him from another vantage. I felt I had some understanding of his madness then, for it was so close to the surface, easily read and seen by my mind. Such strength of emotion I have rarely felt and as if in response to my sensing of him, he began to walk the waves. I should call it pacing were I to be more specific. He was a caged tiger and yet it was not the beach nor the limitless sea which held him. It was, as I came to understand it, the confines of a certain dark blue gaze which belonged to a slave upon the ship. Eyes can hold us captive no matter our best efforts to find freedom.

I sat with three others on the beach and using a flat handled knife, began to work at the removing of skins and extracting meat from each of our catch. It was hard, musty work and I was clumsy at it, having far more experience (though not much, being of upper birth) with farming tools. But we finished with the skinning and buried the entrails in the sand some way from the camp. Some of the deer carcass we set up on a sharpened branch and set to cooking it while the rest we cut into strips and smoked the meat over the coals spread about the fire.

After decapitating the birds, we skewered them upside down over a pit and let the blood drain into the sand. This we covered as well and taking the birds, dropped the entire bodies into an empty cask which we then filled with water and covered. By the morrow, Wufei would be able to pluck them easily. What he would do with them then, would be solely up to him.

Finished with the work of preparing meats, we all three stripped from our clothing and went into the shallows to cleanse our bodies. I stood there, under the burgeoning night, and stared at my body. Evening light glanced off of my torso, accentuating the musculature and the leanness. I do not say that I was pleased, more that I was shocked. I had always been a strong man to some extent. At least for men of my stature and my place in society. But the lack of food and the hard work had turned me into a man indistinguishable from the rest of the working classes. I had scars that were yet to turn white upon my skin where I had been cut by sails and burned by ropes. My hands set into lines on the underside of my palms into the ropes of arm muscle leading from my wrists. I could not imagine velveteen cuffs and rings upon my fingers any longer. These arms and hands did not seem to be able to fit such finery.

Feeling a stranger in a body and yet comfortably settled at the same time, I dropped myself into the sea, opening my eyes under the water and watching the dying day glance subtly across flotsam skirting the waves over my head. I had stood only up to my waist and I let out my breath and sank to a seated position on the pristine sand floor of the ocean.

Was this what it was like to be an Oin Sa Marne? I stared out into the dim world of water around me and smiled. It was as if I were held in the very bosom of the Weaver himself. Everywhere, the thick shadows like arms of an adult when one is a child. I could recall laying on my father's breast, burying my face into his fine jackets and staring at the solitary light coming through the small hole where his elbow rested on his hip. I would shove my nose into his chest and open my eyes sometimes, half underneath his jacket lapel and take a deep breath of his scent. He always had smelled of something fine and delicate. It belied the strength he so often showed.

And now, perhaps I had strength? I could feel my lungs calling for air yet I remained where I was, content to become one with the Sea Folk. Was my lost lover down here, watching me from somewhere just beyond the gloom?

As if to beckon, I half closed my eyes and opened my arms to the unseen presence in the sea. If he was, then I would welcome him back.

In the end, no one came and I was forced to the surface by a hand grasping my hair and pulling me up into the air. Gasping, I stared and struggled, clapping hands upon the arm above me, staring at the white grin which flashed down, framed by the bruised velvet of the heavens overhead.

"'E thought 'e were goin' ter join t'em, did yer?" the sailor laughed. Then he clapped me on the back and shoved me toward the beach, out of the water. I paused once and looked back but a boisterous run of foreign language from the man's mouth and a smack on my bare bottom startled me from the spell I had been under. Perhaps I had been trying to go into the sea; to be taken that way. But if I had, it wasn't to die. It was to live.

Shivering in the chill rising from my damp skin, I went across the beach toward the trees where my clothing hung. The shadows there were deeper, darker, and I shuddered for a far different reason. These trees seemed alive in a way that the sea was, intently so. They watched me as I drug my pants up over my hips and searched in the grasses for my shoes.

A pale hand shot from shadow into evening light and rummaged in the grass to my left. I gasped and took a step back, staring at the long arm which held out the shoes toward me. He must not have moved until then for I had mistaken him for a tree or a play of dying sun which made one always see forms where nothing was. I had been seeing him in my dreams with such a clarity that to see him in every shadow and trick of light was not completely unexpected. What shocked me this time was the fact that this time he was real.

He smiled at me and I took my shoes from him. I wished for light so that I could see how golden his skin was, how green his eyes were. But there was no light. No moonlight, only a watered new borne starlight and a swiftly departing day lingering in the blue black sky.

We did not speak. Because he never spoke more than was necessary and because I could think of nothing to say. Still, I sat upon the grass and did my laces up. All the while I was shocked by the sudden departure of my earlier fascination of him. I found I no longer wished to follow him around, to make him my reason for living. Instead, I was more concrete in my feelings for him. I felt awe, yes - and a great deal of respect. There was no compulsion to set him upon a pedestal. Rather, I wanted to reach out and make contact. I wished to touch him, to feel his warm flesh, to read his emotions and to know his mind. I desired to have him speak of nothing but what passed in the great depths of his thoughts and to let me into the secret that he lived.

The clarity from the mountain top took away the god like portions and reformed them, creating instead a slightly feral, magical being who was almost fully human. He was more beautiful then, than he had been before. He was real instead of the dream he had been.

After dressing, I know I ate and slept and with the morning, worked at finishing up on the meat preparation. We also went in search of rushes which could work as a thread when threshed and spun with hand held spinners, strong and capable of holding the sails together should they be rent on the last leg of our journey. Then, finished with our tasks, we took up the rest of the day returning ourselves and the fruits of our labors to the ship.

It was evening when we completed putting all of our goods away and with hearts far lighter, the entire crew went about quietly singing and preparing to leave. It would be a starlit departure and we had to be certain of our course, I was told. For we'd be doing it without light once more, in case the pirates remained on the watch for us. Fortune had us yet in her favor, the moon would be late in rising.

I spent the rest of the evening with Wufei in the kitchen, helping him to stow foodstuffs and salt meat in large slabs, cage animals that we'd keep alive until it was time to eat them, and hang smoked meats from the deck supports.

Wufei did not speak to me. He seemed content and there was a sense of the fated to him. He was, if nothing else, accepting of his decision. But I feared the decision for it entailed a great deal of unwelcome promises on my part. He did not seem mad to me, yet one needn't be insane to perform actions that are. Some of the greatest logical arguments have been least sane.

Still, I spoke to him, as was my habit from times he had been chained in the underbelly of the ship.

"They say we will be going north east to Kin's Isle. The captain has decided that we need to get into a safe port as quickly as possible and I dare say the crew will be relieved to have the land under their feet once more. I know I will." I spoke as I sliced fish into filets. He'd taken some meat brought to the ship earlier and had used pieces of it to bait hooks and catch fish. "The Greater Market is there. I think I might see someone there who I know. That would be a relief. Though I wonder at times if anyone will recognize me. It has been a long while since I've been to the Isles. Did you know I've been to Pinnet and seen the King?"

He grunted acknowledgment and I continued, telling him of the king's palace, the coral in pots of smoothed onyx, filled with water and fish, the marble pillars made of seven pieces of marble each, a boat required to carry three at a time to the isle.I was far from the mind of Halid, speaking instead telling him of the farms and the wheat and of the barley fields.

We continued in this way for the hours of the evening, myself speaking of my home and his silence, my longing and hope for return and his logical sense of doom. I know I spoke long to cover up that and continued to hope I would play no part in it.

I slept that night for many hours on the floor of my quarters. When I woke, it was to the sound of waves along the side of the boat, rushing water underneath. We had captured a stiff wind and begun a fairly steady back and forth tacking for the next two days. Two days in which we were busy with the wind yet stronger and fed, watered, healthy. And with the lack of desperation in the air and the quickly growing desire for shore in the men, I found the few disquieting beings were all the more so.

Wufei, of course, remained adamant in his silence and kept to the kitchens, not coming out even for delivery of food. He insisted on my taking meals to the rest. Men entered the kitchens during watches and the rest ate in their quarters.

As for the captain, strangely enough, he did not return to his sanity as his ship had. He remained desperately unbalanced and the insanity did not abate despite our having found peace and good sailing. Rather, the closer we came to the islands, the more his desperation grew and I began to fear for him.

For a few days I struggled to decipher what was the cause of this rising sense of consternation in him. I no longer felt I had to climb into the sails and lose myself in the wind, although I did at times, take the crow's nest and find clarity there as I had on the mountain top. It was a matter of desire however, not need, that gave me those moments.

Instead, I wanted to be near the captain, to delve into his madness and find cause. I suddenly felt, being the only one to recognize his instability, that it was up to me to save our voyage from this malady he'd laid upon us all.

I managed to retain work near the hind of the ship for a few days and during those days, I watched him as a hawk. He would walk the poop and then his eyes would jerk toward the fore, staring out at the horizon before coming to himself again, and returning to his work. This he would do though each time, his sense of uncertainty would grow. And with it, a fear so overpowering, that he'd seem to stagger, his strength of will alone keeping such imbalances surreptitious.

He covered it well, I will admit. He covered his growing despair. Yet it was the despair of a man who might easily be pressed to do something rash.

It wasn't until the third day that I discovered the cause during one of those times he looked forward to the horizon. I felt the spike of anxiety drive into his heart and I looked to the fore as well, toward the sea and then nearer.

Heero had not gone below to the book. He had taken to sleeping on the deck, in a small rowing boat which was kept for land forays. I knew that he abhorred the Babe's Book and would do all he could to ensure he never had to go into those quarters again. Because of this, I had taken the entirety of his belongings to him a day before, leaving them near him as he slept in the boat. It hadn't been much. A shirt, a pair of shoes he would wish for when we reached the island, and a simple bracelet of silver clasping a small lapis lazuli stone; blue ribboned through with gold.

I was sure he never came near the captain. I had seen him shrink back in dread, keeping his gaze diverted and his mind focused elsewhere at all times, trying his best to become impossible to see.

Yet, I found that day, he was not immune to the captain's notice. For in following the captain's gaze, I found myself watching Heero stretch in the sun.

He was beautiful. There was no denying the pure aesthetic beauty held in the lithe sinew and slender body, the ink black hair and the piercing blue of those eyes, brilliant and visible even from a distance. He was darkness and day all in one and I was shocked to see him thus, rather than as the broken slave of before. Was it any wonder that the captain could have loved him so well?

He bent his head toward us, but did not see me, being solely intent upon gazing at the captain who had turned with suddenness from him. I found myself in shock at what I read in those eyes of his: Fear, denial, hatred, I would have expected. But instead, there was worry under which, desire so deep and mighty that the ocean would have been considered a pond in comparison.

So - I was not alone in recognizing the captain's twisting, falling mind. But Heero was alone in wanting another so greatly.

Suddenly I began to realize how the curse could have come about. It had been before me all the while. Given that I had noted it before but not come to the extent of realization, I could only surmise I was of two minds, caught between survival and the great cacophony of thoughts eternally about me. But now, able to concentrate after my time on the mountain, I could clearly see the intensity between the pair.

They had done this. Yes, I knew this before, but there had always been other factors. In the end, however, I came to realize that all which happened had happened because of this which they shared. They created a storm of electric need which would have served us all well had they spent it upon one another. But refusing to give in, both of them in their desperate pride had caused a maelstrom of passion unspent. And such passion!

They say that passion between lovers is a promise for the future. And we have stories in which passions are so great that it is said nothing living can compare. That it was a gift turned inside out, twisted into a curse, was plain. And to break such a gift, to destroy it against hardened hearts, was nothing if not a blatant call for other powers to come and feed upon the remnants.

Passion of love brings to man and woman alike, the greatest of energies. Love well tended and growing will cause the sun to shine brighter, fields to grow well. My mother and father had a love like that, though it was nothing in intensity like that of the captain and his Heero.

For my parents, their lands were prosperous because their love attracted joy and beauty and peace.

For these two, the ruins of their great love could carry with it only pain and destruction, cursed malevolence and, in the end, insanity so deep that man cannot free himself.

Heero turned his eyes and his mind from the captain then, too overwhelmed by the intensity of his own emotions. He was stronger than any I had ever met; that he could stand, buffeted by such storms as he must have had within him and yet not break, not fall, and remain staunchly standing in love.

They played a game of cat and mouse with their eyes. Once aware, I could do naught but notice it. And as I went about my business in that remainder of days, with the land coming all the more closer and our freedom looming, the dread of impending havoc began to overshadow me as well. There was a violence in their circling dance, like that of a lion and a gazelle. Only I could not tell which was the predator, which the prey. There was no fear in Heero's body, his mind. He stood his place firm. But in the captain, I could sense a storming of terror. He stood on a precipice and he did not want to think of where he might find himself should a touch of wind greater than his will shove him over.

For nigh on a week, the voyage passed on. Yet still my trepidation grew. I would stand on the eastern side of the ship, staring out as we tacked, to attempt to see the land that must be within our reach. And when a flock of birds flew overhead, making their not so distant way to a nearby island, I found no comfort in them, but instead only wished that the time might somehow fly faster or that I could catch a ride with them, find wings and leave behind the travesty which I could sense overtaking us, no matter how fast the wind, no matter how quickly we approached home.

I was at that very place, with the evening light behind and the moon rising over the edge of the water, when what I'd been praying for leapt into the air with a single shout.

"Land ho!"

The call broke through our reverie and a cheer rose immediately. Men who had thought they'd never see the next day, broke free of the hold and came out in droves, all but weeping their relief.

I straightened and looked out, finding I could see it as well, knowing what I was looking for; a low hanging cloud which was no cloud at all, but land. Oh Weaver, so good and so...

Why did I have to be the one to turn then and look back into the crowd of men? Why was it then that I, no matter the tumult of joy in my head, I felt the sudden wash of terror? Home! Home was many things to many people. Apparently, it brought no gladness to the captain's heart as it did to the rest.

He stood above me, on the aft deck, looking to the silently cloaking dark that began to swiftly cover our land sighting. Within him, there arose something so close to death that I was forced to grip a railing. My vision tunneled and I attempted to reach for those shouts of homecoming and the excitement, something positive to counteract the gloom of despair and keen madness which swamped over the captain and, even at that distance, myself. It was so powerful, this feeling, that all other sounds were drowned out by the muttering lost cry of his emotions blanketing my senses.

I took a half step forward, watching in horror as the captain rushed from the upper deck down the stair, heading to the door that led into his slave's quarters. And it was then that madness turned into a thing for which no word will explain. For just then, the door opened and Heero stepped out.

They came chest to chest. I can imagine it, though I was deaf to all; how the sounds of cheering and exultation surrounded them, how with the home islands being close, their survival must have resounded in Heero's soul.

He, poor, fated fool, smiled upwards and by that smile, doomed us. I think he must have felt that all of their troubles were over, somehow. Perhaps he'd never thought to see the islands, yet here they were, and triumph was in the men, in the air, in him.

The smile was the smallest of winds. And it was a gale in the captain's soul, for he, and by virtue of our connection, I too, were swept into the nothingness which awaited him on the other side of that great canyon of madness. I call it acceptance for that seems best. Yet there was no humanity in that acceptance, no truth in it, only giving in to insanity so complete that he ceased being what he was and became something else entirely.

A hand gripped my arm and I felt, without seeing, that it was Wufei, come up as well to look out on what the commotion was about. "Cap-tain" I croaked out in supplication to him and watched as the captain's hand shot out, catching Heero's slender neck in his fingers.

The door closed behind them and they were lost to sight. I felt nervous as the cries of celebration around me rose to a fevered pitch and a darkness poured, unseen, from the closed door - I scrabbled for air, feeling as if doom were settling upon us.

It was so unfair, being so close to salvation. Within the cabin a scream was caught behind clenched fingers, With no other choice, I gave voice to it. The scream tore from me as I fell to my knees, utterly awful it was. A great pain fueled it's birth, and it died into a tremulous wail of grief. . Men paused in their cheers, all turning to look at me as I, broken and burdened while death reared it's head, stared in horror at that closed door, innocent in itself, yet hiding horrors behind.

I felt a brush of clarity rush past me, strictness bound by justice, honor, rightness, the black and white of a world that was not like mine, not marred as mine was. Then I felt another cry tear from my throat as the world blurred into tears and I saw the door thrown open, black, oily smoke bursting forth, as from hell..

Had it been so little time? I could not tell time, yet I knew that the flames roused fear in every man. There rose again a different shout and the terror in each and every man, coupled with a severe stab of how unfair life might be, to be so close to shore and yet be lost to fire when surrounded by flames - all thought of the gun powder kegs underneath the Babe's Book and all hauled for buckets and ropes, quickly setting up a line as I was jostled against the planking and lay, gasping for breath, staring still at the doorway from whence orange tongues of flame licked out.

The first bucket of water brought with it a bellow of steam and smoke, pouring from the inside. A man shouted about lantern oil and the others changed their actions to suit, rushing to the fore where great barrels of sand stood for such occurrences.

I could not see. The world blurred into a myriad of colors and smells and terrors and despairs, and overriding it all, the madness of the captain - so overpowering that I could feel the hatred, could see Heero's face turning dark before my closed lids, could feel the sensation of flesh under my fingers as I ... no.. the captain, began to crush his windpipe.

It was a horrible sensation and I might have gone mad too, had not hands touched me, brushed my back, grasped my shoulders, and sudden stillness hit me with all the fury of a surprise gale. I gasped and fell forward, nearly senseless. My mind grew suddenly and blissfully blank as someone took hold of me and brought me back against his chest.

Like a babe, I tried to turn into those arms, to seek that breast to hide my face against, knowing despite the smell of fire and smoke, of fear and sea foam, and the clouds of dust rising as sand was thrown into the book, that here, amongst the crew surrounding me, was the very one I'd so missed. Though I could not see him, blinded by the dust, the smoke, my own tears of painful relief, I could feel the same length of arm going around my waist and pulling me back to the railing where I was left, clinging and blinking at the shapes racing to and from the fire.

I wiped my eyes on my sleeves and a man came to me, grasping my jacket and hauling me to my feet. "What're ya doin?" he screamed into my face and gave me a healthy shove toward the fire. "Go'n toss dirt!"

What a strange thing to say. I almost burst to tears again. Though I could not sense him any longer, I knew the captain was within, and Heero was dying. Or perhaps he was already gone. I thanked those mysteriously soothing hands for having made it possible to not have to feel that soul leaving.

Yet the fire needed to be put out. Shaking my head to clear it, I situated myself along the line of those not stupefied by terror and began to press buckets of sand toward the open doorway. Bucket after bucket was thrown within and the line advanced deeper inside, when suddenly men fell back then almost instantly after, rushed forward. I moved out of line, searching for the cause and choked on disbelief.

A shape emerged from the smoke. Over his shoulders he had draped Heero's limp form. Theo clung to slender arm, stumbling and looking almost unscathed though weak, and clutched in the man's other hand, the golden tarred rope of hair, held at the base of the captain's neck, used as a means to drag the unconscious man from the open doorway.

I rushed toward them all, trying to help. Hands reached and took Theo, dragged Heero and the captain from the open doorway before men shouted for others to keep on with the sand while myself and another ran to support the man who stood uncertainly on the deck.

It wasn't until I had my hand around his thin chest and felt the heat coming off of burns along his side that I recognized him as Wufei. I held him upright and he took a great many steps with myself and the other man, until we managed to get him to the side of the boat where he sank into a faint on the decking beside the body of his captain. His face and torso were blackened with soot. Raw, angry looking burns ran along his arm and his black hair was singed, but he breathed clear. We hauled over a water barrel and forced a tap into it, using the clean water to wash his body.

Theo lay with his back to the railings. He watched us with haunted eyes. He stared at the two men on the decking and then slowly hauled himself to his knees, moving beyond us to where I now noticed other men working frantically around a third body. Heero. I surmised but did not go to check. We had the two men before us to cleanse and save.

Wufei we quickly discovered was not so poorly off, despite burns. It was the captain we worried over. His body was covered all along his back with deep burns. The side of his face was burned severely as well so that his ear looked like it might not ever be the same. His hair was burnt atop his head and we quickly found that embers in his braid were threatening to set it afire again. A man with a knife quickly cut the hair and tossed the braid into a bucket, then doused the captain's head in water, and we all watched in vicarious pain as blood streamed from where he lay into the deck wood. A great gash we found then, along the back of his skull, deep and with white bone scoring a line through. I held a cloth to this and waited as the rest of is body was checked for other severe wounds.

We worked, despite the thoughts that it might all be in vain. At any moment the boat could burst into bits from exploding gun powder, yet when I looked up some time later, I was relieved to find the Babe's Book silent, smoke rising off of it and men hauling the powder kegs up from the bellies onto the deck, away from the fire as others went below decks with sand to put out any fires underneath.

I sobbed in relief and turned back to the men we tended while tears made tracks unheeded down my face.

The day passed quickly on and land came further into sight as we all worked at ensuring the fire was out, tending the wounded, and setting things to right. The aft of the ship was a blackened mess as men had torn down the top of the book to kill any traveling fires. A great black hole stood where once the book had been in its rich splendor, unfit for such a sailing vessel yet a long twisted reminder of something that had been beautiful.

It was only fit then, I supposed, that it should have ended there. That the fires of the captains longing turned to hatred should burn the very vestiges of his maddened love for his slave.

I stayed by the captain's and Wufei's side in the steward's quarters where we could set up an extra cot. Wufei was roused sometime after dinner and given food, but the captain would not waken. Wufei sat on the chair at the end of the long room and stared at his captain for a long time before standing and making his way from the cabin. I did not try to stop him.

I learned later that Heero had survived and that oddly enough, he had only suffered a great blow to the head and a small burn on his cheek. I could make neither heads nor tails of it, but did not try to. Instead, I rose from my place at the captain's side and made my way out onto the no almost deserted deck. There was work yet to be done and a few men had left to work the rigging, check sails for damage, while others were attempting in a troubled way, to quietly rest the night away. We would put into port in the morning, I was told. Still hours from shore and with little breeze to take us further.

The broken skeleton of the babe's book mocked me as I stepped into what had been a door and stood in the middle of the main room, looking up at the stars and listening to the sails snapping in the breeze. Pain welled up in me, but so much had happened I could not detect the source. Instead, I wandered the charred remains, unthinking of the floor beneath my feet, but hearing dimly the creaks and groans of planks made weak by fire.

Glittering remains of golden trappings shimmered through soot on the deck in the starlight and I passed it all, not recognizing a thing until I came to what I felt certain was the door to my compartments where Theo had been resting. The door was gone, yet the roofing remained here and I walked within, staring at the light that came through the small porthole. With a sob, I fell forward into the room and came to my bed, untouched by fire. The door must have saved the entire room, blocking the flames.

In the darkness I heard a rustling sound and turned. Desperation welled up within me and I cried out, "Oh please, you can't leave me like this!" I begged everything holy I knew of, that it wasn't my imagination, that he might have been as affected as I was by the ordeal and might need me as sorely as I had need of him.

A breath, deep and sorrowful filled my straining ears and then I felt the rush of cool air as he came to me, wrapped his arms around me in a gentle, lover's way. His lips rained upon my upturned face; I felt his hair upon my cheek and tatters of his clothing brushed my body like torn netting or a sea weed bed rocking in the underwater currents. I sobbed into his mouth as I sought it and felt his kisses and tasted his lips and sensed he was crying as well when water fell to my cheeks, warm but not mine.

He held me tightly, as if he had nothing to lose in doing so. His fingers worked down my back, wearing away the weariness of the day and setting fire to my every nerve. I moaned against the flesh on his neck, seeking without realizing I did so, for gills along the sides, as if he might have used some other means to breathe underwater rather than lungs or magic. I nipped at his skin and he tensed under the grazing of my teeth, straightening away from me.

Hungry for him, for his hunger, I reached upwards, fingers tangling into his hair, into tatters of sea weed or cloth, and drew him down, for his height made it easy for him to leave me behind. He gave a strange, softened cry, like that of a bird, and I was swallowed whole as he bent his entire body around me. He enveloping me with his desire and I felt hot skin against my neck, against my cheek, and cool tresses brushing my face. My mouth sought him and found his ear, suckling on it and then whispering to him, "stay... stay - don't leave me, don't..."

It was a broken litany and yet the moment I spoke I realized I had released him from what spell I had held him captive. Whiimpering, I clung to him as he disentangled himself from me and back lit against the dim light of the porthole, he fled from me, sliding through that moon shape mockery of sky. I heard a distant sound on the wooden side of the boat and he was gone.

Fingers grasping at air, I stood and went to the portal, sobbing without excuse, without pride, my tears running freely down my face for the second time that day. He had left for leaving and this time, he had left for his own reasons, but all of them were a farewell. Perhaps he had feared the loss of me in the tragedy of that day, perhaps he knew of how close we were to land, how I would not be back asea with him. or perhaps my betrayal came to him in memory by the sound of my voice. I could not say, but I was filled with an overwhelming sorrow at it.

Turning from the window, I caught sight of a flash on the dresser and I fell upon the small sliver of white. It was the shell which he had give me, cupped in my palm.

I cursed it under my breath, the feel of it in my palm a double sorrow for it was given to me when I might have chosen a happier road - and in its giving, had spurred Theo and myself to break faith with the good luck that kept our ship afloat and kept me in the arms of he who had fled.

My deep pain bore itself a great wild anger at this insignificant object, all that it signified, the pain of the voyage, my own lack of ability to save anyone, not even myself from what surrounded us. Panting, I burst from the remains of the room, rushing from the broken rooms.

Without thought, I then ran to the railing and there, clutching the rope with my hand, used the other arm to hurl the shell into the air, over the waves beyond.

It spun in starlight, winked at me with a dull pale gleam, distant and out of my reach already, then without any sound loud enough to be heard over the breeze, the sails, the rigging, and my own hoarse sobbing, fell into the water and was gone forever.

Chapter 11: ((The crew docks at Greater Market where the slave markets are held!))

* * *

((_Whew! Didn't know how that would turn out and I'm reasonably content with the result. I apologize for the chapter being so short. I will continue to try to work to make them acceptable to all. However the end of the chapter was already slated and to add more would have made it even more wordy than our Dear Quatre has managed to do so far (he has a way of turning out a rather long phrase, has he not? Wonder where he gets it from! Hee hee._

_I'm unsure how to personalize the review-responses and I'll continue to work on that. I'm terribly sorry if it's seeming stilted. Something about the new avenue has an odd feel to it. And because some don't log in or leave an email, I'll leave review responses for those here._

_Wisegeyser: I thought of this as worse.. Will it help to know that things do steadily get better from here? This was ... duh dunh dunh! The CLIMAX. Hee hee. Hope it worked well. And thank you for the review! Violet Aurora: Ooo! you like AU's too? Me too! I love them. Just adore them actually. (But then, that goes without saying, doesn't it?) Thank you for enjoying the story! I'm glad that so far, it's a good read. That's all anyone can ask, right?_

_To all of you, your reviews keep me going. I'm such an attention hog, it's ridiculous and I'm SO grateful to anyone who takes the time, not only to read, but also to put down their thoughts and feelings. What a great wonderfully kind thing to do! Thank you_!))


	11. Greater Market

Chapter 11: Greater Market

The morning sun slid into my window like a cat. I had the sound of the sea on a distant shore, the almost forgotten cry of a sea bird overhead, and the memories of lips upon my own. I woke clear of all miseries, disoriented, and sat into the sunlight that had dappled my face, for a moment believing I was visiting family friends on the coast of my home.

Then the sunlight pinpointed upon my chest and I looked about myself, thrust without warning into the real world - a captain destroyed by his madness, Heero almost murdered, Wufei burned, the babe's book - what was left of it - filled with the scent of burnt woods and brine, and my savior fled from me. My ease dissipated and tears stung my eyes yet would not fall. I had wept enough for a lifetime during this voyage. I resolved to have no more tears.

I stood from the bed, dismayed to see the gaping black hole where once my door had been, to sense the sagging of the ceiling above me which groaned as a wave twisted the ribs of the ship. The entire deck above would need to be rebuilt and the rooms underneath. It was clear in the charred bones of the babes book that the captain had not meant to survive, nor to have his ship survive with him - but to bury himself and his two traitors in the very sea upon which his misery had been born.

With a hope I cannot explain - for I knew better, I went to the dresser and searched with blind fingers though my eyes could see well enough, for a sliver of white shell, praying for its return and the forgiveness that would come with it. But there was nothing, not on the dresser, not alongside it, not behind it. I found myself systematically dismantling the room, moving bed and opening drawers, emptying their misbegotten contents onto my mattress, before I stopped and forced myself out onto the deck and away from the bereft air of the inside of that room.

I felt a desolation as I stood at the railing and looked out upon the seaside town hovering at the horizon, sails and rooftops intermingling into a scattered, multicolored line. My home island was not far from there and I had little doubt that I'd soon find my way to it. My family was well known and it was but a matter of time until I came upon someone who would recognize me.

I had gained my home. I had found my freedom, my life. My dear Therese seemed years gone and my sadness for her death, while it had never had opportunity to spring from me, was so far removed from who I had become that I could not feel it keenly in my person.

Instead, I felt another grief but would not delve into it's depths. During the voyage, now that the horrors were close but disappearing with the passing hours, I had redefined myself in ways I did not yet understand. And within that definition was something so wild and fae that I recoiled from it even then. Even after it was lost.

It was, even then, a instinctual need I feared. In my familial home, I had grown up in a world of control, of cleanliness and certainty. To fall in love with a creature of the sea, magic, doom and luck, to take on more fable than I already had been born to by the color of my hair, was to further complicate my life. I had fought back against the change and in the end, had thrust the being responsible away so vehemently that every shred of physical evidence was gone. That had been the final insult to it… to him; my throwing his token into the ocean. Granted I had done it while in the midst of a sorrow filled rage, but was that an excuse for acting in this way? My mother would have not accepted it as reason. She would have stated I was acting childish, ungentlemanly, that nothing could give cause to such rash action.

The waves brushed the sides of the boat, mixing with the distant rustle of humanity on the distant shore and I could find little comfort in it. No - my voyage did not feel finished and I remained incomplete as, later that hour, we prepared to go.

Theo found himself in charge of the ship as not one of his leaders had the ability. He went about his duties grim faced and pale still.

The men were given the choice to leave or remain. He stated that he would remain until he was certain of the fate of his beloved captain. They would attempt to make their limping way down the coast of the island to the captain's home and king's island of Piset. They had not full sail but they would have safety, for they were home. Piset was just on the southeastern side of Kin's where we had made berth to go take part in the Greater Market. It would take two weeks for the further journey, yet they'd be near the islands, land, and the water was bound to be calm, due to the storm breakers presented by the presence of the islands at all compass points.

The shore going boat was outfitted. We placed in it monies and sacks for goods as well as a few able bodied men who would aid Theo in getting what things they could use for repairs and who intended to stay on for the duration. We had been lucky that the sail overhead of the book had only smoldered, not burnt, leaving the mast good and much of the sail good as well, though not useable just then. Also, some goods to be sold at the market were taken as well. Myself and the rest would help to do this task first, before the men were taken to the market.

We left for the shore and walked with Theo for much of the afternoon, helping him to haggle his way into needful supplies and to sell goods to men who stood at various points along the bay, looking out for the foreign drinks, gunpowders, cloth bolts, fruits, meats, and other various items for trade from the incoming trading ships.

When we returned to the ship, Theo instructed us all in caring for the supplies. It struck me as very strange, to be preparing to sail when many of us would not continue but instead, would choose to go back to the island in the afternoon and be sold off to other masters. Besides myself, there were Wufei, his hair shorn to hide his birth and salve on his burns, as well as five of the men who wished to leave behind the pain of the voyage and the fearful captain who now lay unspeaking, on a bed in his cabin, a silent Heero at his side.

Theo went to speak to the captain for he had hopes that his captain would accompany us to the market and make our transactions all the more legitamate. But he returned soon with a shake of his head. The captain was not inclined to get up, to move, to do anything but stare at the wall of his berth. He had, Theo feared, lost his mind. But this was nothing I could not have told him already. The captain's final hours before the flames of the babe's book had been his undoing and I was convinced that he had lost a portion of his soul in that fire. His soul stood much like the Babe's Book did, in pieces, stark, brittle, and black against the richness of the rest of the world. He had danced with the sparks of jealousy and hatred and in the end, was consumed, proving himself to be nothing more than pitifully mortal.

We left for shore in silence. I sat behind Theo on one of the crude benches and looked back to toward the ship, my world and what proved to not be my death, being left behind, seen for the last time. There, at the fore deck, leaning against a rope, his arm tangled into the rigging, fingers curled gracefully and long body sinuous with the warmth of sun and the certainty of his place against the sea, my green eyed sailor stood, watching us and not moving.

I had not seen much of him in those last hours for he had more than likely been busy with caring for the ship and the placement of supplies. Yet, watching his features blur with distance, I was torn between diving into the water to swim back to him and going on to my shore. It was a dreadful longing and I might have lost to the compulsion had I not had some experience already with whimsical and unthinking acts in much the same vein already. Trowa had given me no assurances ever that he might have thought the same of me. Truthfully, he was a man of the sea, with no desires for land, like many of the others who chose to remain. Their lives began and ended with the sea. And I? I was of the land. We were divided by more than my intent interest in him and his seemingly lack of notice of my very existence.

Still, I imagined to myself, he might have been watching me leave him, in much the same way I watched him be taken from me. Time would not bring us together again. Not according to the paths we took and the words never spoken.

How ironic. I lived a lifetime without once considering any other but my Therese. I had loved so few in my lifetime. And in the time shortly following her death had come to be almost obsessed with both a man and a mystery. Neither of them would have me and I was left more bereft then the day I woke to sea and not a sign of my beloved wife's body anywhere near. The sea stole three from me, not just one. And it was the latter two that I felt most keenly that day upon the boat as we rowed shoreward.

I watched him a long time until he became a line of color, then I moved my body so that I would have to watch the land we approached. Beside me, Wufei was silent and I took time to regard him. I had lost - nothing could be done for it. But he… He was choosing to lose, had chosen. That much I was certain of at that time.

"What happened in there?" I asked, unable to contain myself. "In the book. For you leave, yet they have need of you."

Wufei's jaw worked and he clasped his arms across his chest, despite the red burn mark over his cheek, he was flawless and beautifully untouched. Still terribly thin from his treatment on the ship, he retained the muscular grace that he must have had by birth. It would amaze me that any would believe him a slave and not imagine him a hidden prince. I tried again. "You are loyal to the captain. He may have come to understand some day if -"

I stilled as he turned eyes so black and bottomless, cold and dismissive upon me. He did not wish to speak to me. I could, I knew, have probed and seen what was hiding underneath that mask. But I had had enough of knowing what was not revealed by choice. I did not wish to know ever again, the depths of despair men might bear.

I stared back, captured by his gaze. Then I took a breath, meaning to apologize, but he spoke first.

"My loyalty has never been in question," he said then. "It was the manner of my loyalty that brought me to shame."

"But… how could your honor have been torn from you in this way?" I was desperate to know, wanting to delve into the last tie I would ever have to this destruction of humanity we were leaving behind. "I.. I know the story. I know that you were with Heero, that you loved him; that you love him."

Wufei showed no sign of anger at my words. He instead, laughed bitterly. "Is that what is being said?" his face was cold now, not just his eyes. Yet there was a dull sheen under the ice of his mask, as if he himself could not believe half of what had occurred as well. We were all somewhat battle weary after the voyage. "That I loved Heero, that I hated my captain?"

"It is implied, yes," I added meekly, looking out toward the shoreline. We were close. And I was suddenly aware that our conversation did not go unnoticed.

"Ah," he breathed. Then he lapsed into a silence which I felt meant our conversation was over. The boat struck the side of the dock and there, we tied to a piling and the men clambered out onto the short ladder reaching upwards to the dock side. As I stood, however, he reached out and grasped my arm.

I turned and gazed down at him. He did not look at me, but instead was intent on where the waters turned black under the dock overhead. Still I waited a moment, sensing he would speak if I allowed him time.

"Had I died, it may have saved him. Had you killed me when I was chained, perhaps he might have found freedom then. But now, it is too late. So I go on. Nothing I can ever do will justify my actions or make my life worthwhile. I… I destroyed a good man with my wrongful desires." He sighed then when he stood, then took his hand away. He gestured to the ladder and said darkly, with great feeling, "Truly it is a curse to be human."

I watched him climb the ladder, knowing that he would say no more, yet he left me with more questions than answers. He might have been attempting to displace his guilt upon me, yes. I had refused to kill him. But it did not seem so, even then, that he was capable of such devious intentions. Instead, it seemed to me to be the last time he would be with one who had shared his experience upon that ship, as it was the last time with myself. He had to say something, for much the same reasons I had had to ask.

We followed Theo to the market in a line, each of us keeping our thoughts to ourselves. My hope could not be so great, even then. The end seemed like a dream.

I must describe the market for those who have little understanding of them. It is not as the more barbaric markets wherein slaves will lose all dignity and be treated as no better than dogs. At the Greater Market, as on all of the islands, men and women, some with children, some with not - some with families, many alone, stand or sit, lounge or attempt to look ready for work, all about the square. Traders with papers and banking officials wander amongst the crowds. Slaves are generally denoted by their show of the tattoo. Men with their shirts off and women with arms or bellies showing to let others know they are available. Here and there, slaves answer questions and speak directly to those who might be master.

Those who have wish of slaves, wander the crowds, often with an official at his or her side. They speak to slaves and ask questions. The use of the slave is dictated, the skills as well, and then a price is haggled between the owner or trader and the prospective owner. In the end, the slave is asked to stand with the new owner's entourage and later taken to a house to be taught his or her duties within the new household. There are no chains, no whips, no cries, no checking of teeth or limbs, no explanation of bad temper or poor breeding. It is a simple and economical matter of, in many ways, transferring available workers from one area to another.

Theo went to find an official so that he might report our uses. Then we stood in a line on the west side of the square, myself standing beside Wufei while Theo kept his place to the right of us. For those who were denoted as sailing personnel, the wait was quickly over. There was always need for good sailors and they came highly recommended, from a good ship, and were all well traveled.

As for Wufei and I, we were listed as being household slaves. Wufei also had the label of being able to teach children and yet, while he was questioned a few times, he was not taken. His ice cold demeanor, I believe, put many off. He did not seem to be one capable of being kind to children.

Theo, despairing of us finding a price before the end of the day, changed Wufei's listing as one who might teach not literature and academics, but also swordsmanship of the foreign north. Then he moved Wufei a distance from me, thinking perhaps that our looks contrasted too much, as well because I was down as a gentleman's valet. I had asked to be listed as such, sure that I would be more likely to find one who might have known me among gentlemen.

Yet out of the faces that appeared, none looked at me more than once. Despite my golden hair, my lack of tattoo and my having come from New Hartlin I believe led them to believe much as the captain had; that I was a pleasure slave for the foreigners. They feared the trouble in bringing me into a household. Slaves with too much time in New Hartlin often came back with prejudices or angers and sullen dispositions. And also, pleasure slaves were not often found in the general populace. To take one on, was to accept gossip would be spoken about one's tastes.

The sun had begun to set and Theo was near giving up, when I heard a voice that struck me as intensely familiar. I turned from where I had been watching the ship out across the ocean and stared, shocked, at the view of the man I had known as a child. A man named Milliardo; rich, spoiled, a handsful of years older than myself, and from a family which often consorted with mine. I would never have called him a close friend, yet I knew him almost as well as a brother.

He stood, staring at Wufei who stood as well. He had not sat once but had stood with little movement during our showing.

Wufei was not looking back, but answered short and quietly at every murmured question. I smirked. Wufei would have a good home with Milliardo. But Milliardo's initial choosing was not due to his listing, but more due to the dark beauty in Wufei and the fact there were so few north slaves to be had. Wufei must have seemed a strange, exotic creature to be had for the right price.

Milliardo always had had an eye for beauty and for the rare.

As he continued so speak, I eyed Theo and then began to walk to meet with them, my arms tucked behind me as I smiled, overhearing the conversation. Milliardo practically purred his questions, his pale eyes searching Wufei's face for a reaction. But he was getting none. And where others might have been discouraged by this, it obviously only intrigued my friend more.

"So you see no difficulty in teaching a grown man, then?" Milliardo was asking.

Wufei did not look at him, but instead gazed straight ahead, merely grunting affirmation.

Milliardo chuckled. "You are rather reticent, aren't you? You do speak though, at least. Just not much." He tilted his head to one side and then, mischievously, "I wonder that your last owner wasn't completely fair to you?" His eyes ran down Wufei's body. "You look rather worse for wear."

"I assure you, I was dealt with according to what is just and I am capable, sir," Wufei answered stiffly. He still sounded raw and I could not hide my smile. Milliardo would have been better to have ignored the draw of Wufei. Wufei was a rock upon which even one as stubborn as Milliardo might have bashed his head in against before he ever made a dent.

My chuckle brought the handsome face around and he looked at me a while before his eyes registered recognition. "Good Weaver… Quatre?" He was shocked and then he grasped my arms firmly and half shook me. "What in hell's fire? Why look at you! Where have you been? I had no word that you were returned. When did you … when did you come home?"

I laughed softly. "Just now, actually. Can you not tell?" I stepped back and showed off my tattered clothing and my browned skin.

"No.. I mean.. good heavens. You look like a slave! What happened to your ship? I would have never recognized you. You berthed here in Kin's? Are you looking for passage to Moon Arl?"

"I was just searching for a friendly face, actually," I laughed. "And here I found one. What are you doing?"

Milliardo gazed behind me and I turned, finding Theo staring at me and then flushing. Anger darted across his face. It had been a lie, my state, but I hoped one day he might understand why I kept it to myself. "This is Theo, the first mate.. and itinerant captain of the ship I crossed in. My initial voyage was destroyed and Theo and the rest of the crew plucked me from the sea," I said and reached out to touch his arm. To my relief, the stricken sailor did not pull away but instead cleared his throat and bowed his head in greeting.

Milliardo stared at Theo in shock and then shook his head, flabbergasted. "A shipwreck? Good gods, Quatre. What a story you have to tell, it sounds like. But as for me, I am here trying to while away some time. Mother wanted to find another household slave and I thought I would see who else we had, to see if there were any intriguing persons to be found. I've found one, I think," he laughed.

"Yes?" I asked. And did not give any indication I knew Wufei. He had his reasons I knew, to want to do as he was doing. And if Milliardo took him under his wing, then I would be sure to see Wufei again and perhaps, wrest from him the reasons. "You seem to have found someone worthwhile," I settled on, rather than saying more.

"Yes, I think I have," Milliardo seemed pleased and then he glanced around. "Well, you won't have a way home then, so I shall have to speak to Mother. We will let your family know. Theo," he addressed the sailor to my side, "what might we say to thank you for the safe transport of one of our own? His family will have missed him terribly. I do not know that they even knew he'd been lost. But without you.." He paused, obviously not willing to state the obvious. As close as death had been during the voyage, it would have been assured had they never taken me aboard.

"Without my captain, sir," Theo was quick to interject. "I'll pass along your gratitude. And you had interest in Wufei?" He jerked his head toward the northern man uncomfortably. He obviously had no ease when it came to land men, nor those of a higher birth. "I've his charge, sir."

Milliardo stared at Wufei and then me, bemused. "Well, yes.. I dare say I have great interest. And yes, tell your captain, here.. come.. we shall make this official and then speak more. I will buy us all a dinner, shall I?"

Theo was reluctant to do so, and Wufei even more so. In the end, Milliardo agreed to a sum far above what any man was worth, insisting on it, in fact, as a payment for the safe keeping and travel for myself. He was in the process of inticing Theo with a warm dinner, when his mother appeared. She was shocked at my dress, at my quickly explained ship wreck, and at the fact that I had been almost lost for good. My mother and she, being close friends, would have shared information about myself otherwise. My family had had no idea of my loss, not yet.

After that, I lost track of the others and was swept up in her perfume and concern - and as incapable of stopping her from tearing me away from them as I had been incapable of halting the sea from stealing my wife, my simplicity, my innocence, and a good deal of my heart as well. For when I finally had my head about me once more, I was cleansed, in a small apartment of the lady's, with my feet squeezed in shoes for the first time in months, my hair tied back out of my face, and not a single reminder of my ordeals but for calluses which had taken up permanent residence upon my palms and a certain darker gold to my skin when I looked down at my hands.

It was over. And yet, I could not find any part of my spirit, my body, my self, which rejoiced.

Chapter 12: ( Returning home - Quatre tries to get on with his life, with something missing. )

* * *

(( _Thank you everyone for reading still! We're not yet done, but getting closer! I am sorry for the questions left, but since we are following Quat and not the rest, things will have to remain a mystery for a while longer. I'm terribly sorry about the wait. My year is easily cut up into the half year I can write and the half year I can't. I'm hopefully coming into the half year where time is more readily available and therefore I can go back to updating!_

_For those whom had not signed in:_

_Sabby: You're wonderful and I'm so glad you are reading! I love having names I recognize! And you know, it's not such a bad thing to be hooked to reading hack writing! Hee hee. At least, not in my book!_

_H to the Iso: Eek! And now you're going to be upset that Tro was left behind! Keep tuned! I swear things aren't over yet! Thank you so much for the lovely words!_

_Thank you also to **ArlenSayos**, **NostalgieMalaak**, **Haywire **(yay!), and **Youkai Girl**. You make writing worthwhile! Without your reviews, I'd never have the energy to pick up keyboard and write the next chapter_ ))


	12. Nearing Recognition

Chapter 12 Nearing Recognition

How does one put down in words, the emptiness of the seasons when there is nothing to mark them? What a read would this journal of my experiences be, if I were to go on and on about the matters of returning home, the familial reaction, so much more that in itself, makes for a new story and one in which I cannot expect anyone to sit through.

I did return home. The short trip between islands was of a surreal kind, for I watched men in the ropes and listened to the barked orders, but was apart from them. I, dressed in my finery with my hair tied back at my collar, felt out of place.

Yet my clothing could not set my soul apart from them. Time and time again, I would find myself leaping at an order shouted overhead, or standing at the rail and gazing out into the waves, weeping for what I knew not.

Upon arriving at home, I found some solace. My mother was loving and not having known that I almost died, her fear for me was short lived and over within a day. It had been years since I had sat at my mother's knee and she long ago had decided I was master of my own fate. Yet our friendship was slow to kindle. We walked about one another as if we were strangers, uncertain and shy. In short course, however, she took a kind, distant mannerism with me, acting toward me as if I were an honored guest. And in this way, we were able to manage for a time. As well as taking that time to reacquaint ourselves with one another.

The first month, hungry for the sound of waves and sea birds, I took a short trip to the shore where my family has a cabin upon the cliffs overlooking the ocean. There I walked the rocky shore and gathered shells, trailing aimless at the edge of the waves and plucking any piece of white from the shore; turning it over and over, looking for that scrim that I had thrown back to the ocean as if, by some miracle, it might have shown up at my feet.

During that short visit, I discovered myself often staring out to the sea, the vast, flat horizon, and wondering if it I was not better suited for a ship of my own. But whenever my imagination turned toward the sailing of a ship, it also included a green eyed sailor, straight and as solid on the waves as any man has been on land. I would wonder also, if he thought of me, if he had remained standing at the starboard side of the doomed ship, staring out to where my boat had last been. In my imagination, he was as like a statue as he'd been to me the first time I had seen him, strong at marble and as far from my reach.

I found the ocean too painful to remain long. Returning home, I toured my homelands, in search for what I knew not. The boundaries became plain to me over the next month, but the boundaries of my depression stretched further than the ocean horizon had.

This was about to change when, one day while riding out, I heard the distant rhythm of singing and dull pattern of feet upon the earth. I rode to the edge of one of our fields and watched our men and women working in concert upon the corn. They plucked pests from the leaves, smashing them between fingers and dropping the bugs into small pouches they carried on their sides. They were slicing into the ground with wooden hoes to loosen the tendrils of trumpet flowered vine weed which would overtake an entire field if allowed to grow. All through the air, the murmur of voices singing, the feet moving to the song, the hands finding a settled beat.

I watched them a great while, their effort was reminiscent of my time on the ship and when I looked down at my hands, I found them pale once more. Turning my palms heavenward, I discovered that the calluses were softening and seeing this, my heart hurt.

Their leader, a great shouldered, quiet man named Natan who I had known even as a child, approached me a long while after taking note of me, certain perhaps that I was not simply watching the work. He bowed his head to me, then peered upwards, eyes squinted against the sun behind my shoulder. Looking down at him, I was reminded further by how he had the same gentleness and command which Theo had mastered. I shuddered, merely nodded to him, and turned, riding back home with a solemn sense to the world around me, all in dark purples and blues, like the great bruise on my soul.

But two days later, I returned, watching from the edge of the field. This time, Natan did not approach me. Nor did he the next day, nor the next. Yet still I went, sitting upon my gelding until he was cross and stretching out his neck to gain room on the reign so he might reach down and nibble on blades of grass.

How many days did I go to watch, easing my heart with their singing, until the singing was not enough and I knew what drew me there? I cannot say the amount of days. But I know that it was two weeks almost when I dismounted and calmly walked into their midst.

They ignored me that first day. And the next when I came dressed more appropriately. I learned by watching. I learned what to dig up, what to leave. We worked on the corn fields together, they pretending that my actions were some strange madness, while I merely took pleasure in allowing my hands to harden once more, the sun to touch my skin, the sweat to break upon my brow.

When I say corn fields, I assume all know what I mean. But I believe that others outside of the islands may not be fully aware how we plant such things. That the corn field is rife with smells. The first of the Sea Folk is said to have learned from his wife, and she from her people, how to plant the corn and the beans and the squash together. That they keep the land fertile for one another, that they utilize one another. This we did, so there was a low sweeping curl of vine at the base with great leaves, then the beams twining up around the growing corn, already putting out fruit while we waited on the corn to ripen, and finally the tall waving stalks with the spear like leaves falling to either side. I quickly learned which leaves were bean, which were vine weed. I discovered with bugs we leave upon the leaves, which we take away. I watched and learned the way to hold a hoe, the way to pluck things from the ground so my back would not ache in the morning, and how to wear a shirt for modesty, yet wrap a damp rag about my neck for coolness.

And I grew content.

Fall brought with it the harvest and I bumbled through a great deal of it. Yet the time had formed something of a comfortable place for me. The men and women with whom I worked, had grown to accept me, if not as one of them, then as someone they would allow to be around. They left me to my work, gave me tips when they thought I'd need them, even laughed at my expense once they discovered I would not be angered by my own mistakes. But there were some differences. I was never ordered. Nor was I expected. When my mother needed me, I would simply go to her and someone would take up my place. If the task required six, I would be the seventh. I was accepted but not demanded from.

I began to follow Natan around that fall. I watched him and then listened as he took to teaching me the intricacies of the land. From him I learned to read the skies, the clouds. He taught me where water would hide, where it would pool, where to plant and when. I learned about letting fields lay fallow, about seeding the edges of the field to keep our soil, of keeping the rains our friend and not our enemy.

Alongside the wise foreman, I learned of how to butcher the hogs, where to stack the corn, how to take in the various vegetables. And alongside him, I found peace once more.

But it was not to last. Winter came. And in it, I was a pacing animal in a cage. My mother took to sending me out on errands to town because I drove her mad with my singing and my staring out the window onto the rain drenched fields. I did not know of the things required at this time and for many weeks I moped until fed up with my attitude, my mother threw her hands into the air and sent me off down to Natan with instructions to give me something to do.

How did she know? I think, perhaps, that my mother was far more aware of her son than I was of myself. She had, more than likely, reports of my well being. It seems I had missed the time of life wherein I would have taken my father's place, hearing reports of the land and choosing accordingly, which means that my mother was doing that very thing then. She knew of what was to be and it would come as no surprise to me that Natan reported to her, not only of the fields and their goods, but also of my doings as well.

Down in the village, with Natan, I was kindly set to work. I fixed machines and helped women make tallow candles from the fat of the harvest. Great skeins of wool had been created through the summer months and now it was ready to create the fabrics from which clothing would be made. And while it was considered women's work, I still found a great deal of kindness and laughter working at learning a loom, setting weft and warp upon it, and finding colors and patterns growing. There was a calm in discovering the differences of the finely woven cloth of my mother's satin and the coarse woolen cloth of the men and women around me. One of the women had a small loom upon which she made the finer stuffs, and some of the women would crochet laces for my mother's manor. Many an evening, I would go down to Natan's home, larger than the others for his place in the village. There, I sat fireside and listened to Natan and the men speak of plans for the lands while I watched women's fingers move deft and quick over the pale threads, drawing out flowers and whorls, ladders and eyelets, bird wings and the forms of deer out upon their work. Natan's wife was most amazing at her work. In her laces, full scenes to rival my mother's embroidery, would emerge. What I had thought to be the work of a woman from a distant land, was in reality from my own home.

Natan was a large man with greying hair at the temples. His voice was like a thunder across the fields and his broad arms would often be working on a task while he spoke. He was always in motion, but his motion held peace in it and I would find calm just in walking next to him or sitting by him. It was, also, the calm he exuded. To me, he felt like a great childhood dream at times, and I would wallow in his presence. Those times he would gaze at me with a small smile hiding upon his lips, and I would blush, in some way, afraid he had discovered my secret.

The weaving and lace making, the candle dipping and the preparing of foods left over from fall, all of this was well for my spirit and almost hid the fact that I dreamt every night of the sea, heard the creaking of the boat, the soughing of the salt air through the rigging, and the maddened shouts of the captain ordering us all to our deaths.

I began to speak to Natan about my time upon the ship.

The story left me gusts, often after a particularly bad dream. I would sit while his smile peeked out at me, breathing in his presence and telling him of the hen that I had felt was mine, the death of my beloved Theresa, the way the salt water would ride into the bilge and how lower decks always smelled of rotten flesh from the various creatures trapped and dead in amongst the bilge water at the lowest portion of the ship. I explained to him the rules of the ropes, showing him knots I had learned, teaching him the meanings of terms; aft, mizzen, halyard, brig.

In this way, it all came from me. The entire story. Wufei and his end. The Captain's insanity and Heero's tragic loyalty. Theo's pain and duty. The Oin Sa Marne and its mystery. And Trowa, the green eyed sailor who I never truly spoke to, never knew, never had cause to fall in love with, but had nevertheless.

There was a great deal of pain in that telling and it took all winter. By the time spring came about, my mother's friends and those of the family, had deemed me a strange young man. No longer did women bring their daughters to meet with me, for I would not be there. No longer were invitations arrived at my doorstep to attend this or that ball. No longer did gentlemen of my mother's knowing, come down to the village atop their hunters, wondering if I'd take a bit of a run with them. I was left to my peace and the eccentricity of my own manner of insanity.

Almost.

My mother found me an evening after spring planting had begun. She swept into my apartments with her skirts and pale, diminutive self scented with the floral water from the crocuses and lilies just come up. Her smile tinged with pink, her blue eyes dancing, she settled upon a settee in my parlor and waited for me to attend to myself.

I was flustered, to say the least. While I knew my mother had knowledge of my doings, or suspected greatly, I was always seeing her as the grandest of ladies, dressed in her finery with her ivory handled fans and her silken caps over her hair. She watched me as I walked about like some common laborer, my hands still covered in dirt, my shirt undone, my pants covered in manure from the fertilizing of the fields. I washed my hands and face, but was loathe to leave her waiting, so little she came to see me. But at the same time, I felt useless to her and fell to my knees at her feet, careful lest any part beyond the clean palms of my hands should touch her.

She, dear woman, reached down and took me up, drawing her to her side and taking up my hands. She ignored the smear of dust upon her pale rose colored gown, but instead looked into my eyes and smiled, her fingers touching my hair which had grown past my shoulders by this time. I felt keenly the child I was in her eyes, despite her allowing me to be a man. And I clung to her.

"You must not hide from your own world, my son," she said when she finally spoke. Her words so kind, yet rebuking me.

"I am sorry, Mother. I.. will try better." And how could I not? I knew I needed to have given her much more. I was to be lord of this manor when she was no longer living. But how could I take it on when all I wished was to be left alone?

She laughed, gently. "No, you will not try. But you will do. Quatre, I do not ask you to give up what happiness you have found. I could not be more proud of how you have come to know your lands, your people. I have heard from the lands, how you have come to know them, the fields, each stream, each tree. You know our skies and our plants, our seasons. It will make you a lord worthy of this."

She laughed again, at my air of mystification, watching her extol virtues into my effort to hide myself. Her fingers traced mine, grown callused by the work over the winter. "I find nothing wrong in you. You have chosen to live according to your heart, dear one. You've not bowed to the world's expectations but are doing as you feel is right. Oh, I know you do not know this is what you do. But I think that I let my child leave my home to live his life in decadence and joy. Yet the sea has returned him a man. There is nothing you cannot do now, my dear."

"Mother.. I…" What could I say to that? I held her hands up to my lips and kissed them and she petted my head fondly. My heart welled up with tears I could not let loose. The pain of my journey remained with me and my heart was lost in its own ocean of pain. But her words were a beacon to my soul and I knew the direction I must go.

She smiled and touched my cheek. "You must make an effort, my son. Make an effort to find balance between the two. There is balance and you will find wisdom as well in discovering it. I am sure of you."

She rose then, bending and kissing my brow before she lovingly touched my shoulder. "I would not mind seeing your face a time or two as well, my dear. I would like to know the man my son has grown to become." With these words, she left me, shaking on the fine carpets in my dirty clothing, feeling like a beggar just admitted into a house of riches and told they are all his.

I felt unworthy of the attentions she afforded me. My insides fractured and my selfhood unsteady, I was nothing of what she had said. Yet I wanted to be. Her belief in my inward growth grew in me a desire to live up to what she had seen. I rose, washed myself, dressed, and spent very little of the night sleeping. My mind was racing and my heart finding it's pieces to slowly put back together what I had allowed to break.

With the morning, I rose, dressed in clothing to match my mother's usual morning attire, and descended to break my fast with her. She showed her pleasure and smiled at me. We ate quietly and I kissed her cheek before I left.

She grasped my hand though and forced me back to my seat. Holding me there with her small wren like touch, she tilted her head and smiled. "Now then, my son. What is to be of our planting?"

I was shocked, but I sat with her for another half hour, explaining the drainage problem we had had with one of the fields and how we would be forced to plant two weeks later in that spot. But there were hopes that the lower placement might give us a good wet spot for melons, for Natan had assured me the light would be sufficient later, if we planted a shorter crop in that field.

Mother laughed in delight and held my hand more tightly. "Yes. We had a nice season for melon some years ago and Natan took good advantage of it. We had such marvelous fruits then. It would be so nice to have more!" and her eyes danced and I swore to myself that if I had to drag bucket after bucket full of water to douse the plants, she would have them again this year.

Thus began a morning ritual and the change in myself. Every morning, I would tell my mother of the plans for that day while eating a meal with her. More importantly, however, she and I spoke not only of the fields, but of ourselves. It confused me for some time, attempting to both speak to my mother as an adult, while retaining the memories of my childhood at her knee, and to open to her the man I was, as opposed to the child I felt she expected me to be. What relief it was, however, to learn that it was my own self that had kept us as distances. For she had grown to accept me in whatever form I was. And she loved to learn of me, my travels, and my thoughts.

There is something to be said for parental influence. Even as an adult, I could not lose the freedom that her acceptance wrought in me. And learning of her as well, taught me of her failures as well as her successes as a human being. This too, helped me grow and mature as I never had before. With her love and attention, I was able then, to recognize the need for my choices and that I alone, was in charge of the future before me and my part in it.

I no longer lost myself in the work, but became a part of it. My goal was to know all men and women, all children on my lands. I grew to confidence, speaking to them and learning their histories, their lands, their homes. I sought information from each man on what he knew well, and while I may not have come to know such things as black smithing or shoeing, training of sheep dogs or weaving, in the same way that I knew the fields, I still learned of the men behind each and what was a sign of good work, what was not.

This learning brought me through planting season, into the tending season. Together, the men and women and myself, worked to mulch our seedlings, to tie up the vines and keep animals from eating our harvest, from above and below. Irrigation was dug for such time as heated weeks where water would be hard to come by, weeding for those plants that would harm, yet leaving behind those that would only work as ground cover, and readying cribs and going through old harvest to prepare for the new that would come. There was little time for else more.

Even though, I was able to send letters to Milliardo and inquire as to Wufei. He was strangely quiet on the subject, but I could read through the lines on his letters. Wufei was proving difficult. I laughed at this. I should have expected nothing less. There were tales of his house manager, Otir, choosing to almost walk out on him, friends advising him to give the man a whipping, and an overwhelming desire to learn what story had led Wufei to be his slave. More and more often as summer went on, I read the lines, _'I have hopes that soon, he may see me as a friend. But until that time, I feel he believes himself in need of being my slave. Oh I long for the day he knows he can be free with a word! Then what joy there will be for Otir and the others.'_ The unspoken "and myself" was there, but I wisely chose to not point that out. Milliardo was a man with an eye for beautiful things and a desire to be free of any ties that care might cause in him. I felt it better for Milliardo to discover his obvious affection for his newest slave on his own.

I also managed two balls during that season, both times leaving well before when I was expected, but my apparent respect of those who truly wished me to continue contact, despite my strange, plebeian behavior, gave me a friend or two I had not thought I would have retained.

We had just finished our second grassing of the season, both far richer than any of the three of the year before. We were happy with what we had and were preparing for summer solstice. The men and women of our village sang as they prepared. An older bull cow was taken down the day before, cut into slender slabs which were then tenderized and filled with salt and herbs before rolled into great foot and a half thick logs of meat. These placed on skewers, were left overnight in a box filled with leaves and more herbs, then in the morning, placed over long, low fires. Stews were set up and the first of the harvest, baby carrots and tender beets from the thinning, tomatoes and lettuces, leeks and berries, all were cleaned and set out to be cooked for the evening. Baking was done and great cakes drizzled in honey sat, covered by thin cloths upon great tables set in the midst of the road. Banners flew and women walked past with babes upon their backs.

At the manor, my mother had chosen against a ball and instead, was coming with me to the village. This sent all aflutter and question upon question was plied to me. What did she like best? Would she care to sit here? Should we have the strawberry wine or honey ale for her? Would you consider sitting next to her? What about Widow Hampsen? She had been the lady's house maid for so very long. Would that be well, because the widow wishes it and none want to go against her. But then again, the lady! The lady!

I eventually chose to go out with Natan and some others to work some on irrigation so as to escape the preparations of which I had no part in. Or wished no part in, better stated.

We worked into the long, still afternoon of the day, pausing midday to eat and sweat near the irrigation ditch. Men all around me were laying back in the cool earth between furrows and taking a much needed nap before what would prove to be a long evening. I and Natan remained sitting up, talking over our plans while we broke bread and drank the cold water from the ditch.

We spoke around mouthfuls, behavior those of my status would have found deplorable, when there was a sudden call from behind.

"Oi," one of the men had leaned over and tapped us on the shoulder. "We've a vis'ter."

We turned and gazed across the low field of alfalfa. Beyond, a lone figure walked the irrigation canal, his shadow almost nonexistent under his feet. Over his back a large pack was tied, but it was a ways and we could not see him well to make mark of his clothing.

Natan stood, and I as well. We watched him turn toward us, take note of us and look toward the village. Then choosing instead to make contact, he came off of the canal sides and began to walk through the furrows toward where we stood waiting for him.

When did I begin to suspect? When was it that looking at him I began to see another man? Was it in the way he took each step, so certain and yet, hesitant, as if the ground itself seemed uncertain and might roll over and take him under with it? Was it the set of his shoulders or the stillness of his head? I watched him and butterflies of hope blossomed in my stomach before my mind ever drew together lines to cause a true picture. I gasped and held my breath, watching his face come out of a blur into the very visage I had dreamed of, over and over again.

I stood, rooted to the spot as Trowa came to a halt before us. His green eyes were more like an ocean here, where there was only the green of plant life all around. Following him, a small cool breeze, touched with the scent of salt water, rounded about he and myself and memories rushed in with it. He nodded to Natan, but his eyes were fixed upon me. I swore there was a small but secret smile, much like the one Natan would wear, upon his lips and I felt my body turning to ice, melting away under the weight of the sun's direct rays.

What could I say? My memory brought up the story Theo had told me of how this man had appeared just as suddenly in the midst of their voyage. My lips tingled and my tongue broke from where it had been cloven to the roof of my mouth. I could not sense it, but heard a mockery of those words come from me.

"Well? Cain't have jes anyone take aboard. Are you willin' to earn yer keep?" And Trowa's smile was brilliant. And he said nothing.

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Chapter 13: (The… err… wooing of Trowa?

AN: (( _Hee hee. I can't believe this all began from a one shot. This is amazing to me. And now, we're nearing the end, though not so far just yet. I had originally meant this to be fifteen chapters (that is, once I accepted it wasn't a one shot I was writing) and now I'm not entirely sure it can make it that far. There's something to be said for not dragging out the slow stuff - case in point: the entire scene of Cirith Ungul in LOTR, longest chapter that ever existed!- so I'm going to see if I can shorten it a tad. We'll see if I manage it!_

_Thank you so very much to all those who reviewed; to ArlenSayos, to Angl, to Haywire dear (I say bravo for all the rest of those cake eaters out there! - sorry for the wait, hon!), to Markanovanlink, to Pandora-chan, to Ezzy! You guys make me smile._

_And for anonymous: so hard to respond without an email! Hee hee. Maybe Trowa will be the one to recognize that the sea isn't quite right for him, without.. cough cough Quat? Awe, who knows! Well, I do. But I won't say. Thank you for reviewing_ ))


	13. Salt to the Land

_(A/N: I know author notes are no longer kosher, but hey, I've never been too kosher myself - in fact, I'm very much not. Still - considering all of the time I have not given to this, I feel bound to explain myself. _

_I have taken up some new sports, one of which is running dogs (mushing) and the other is camping in all weathers - as well as suddenly finding myself busy with so many other things, including a very satisfying career, that I am strapped for time and feel guilty when I sit down for hours at a time and write away like a madwoman. Therefore, this chapter has been done for weeks, months now, but I've not gotten around to editing it. It still is not edited. And therefore, is not up to par, but I beg your indulgence. It has the gist of the story which I wished to put across to you. So while it is not good enough, it retains the truth of what is to happen and how. One day, when I am blessed with time to do more than hammer out a chapter when I can manage a moment, I will go back and edit it. Until that day (many years from now I'm thinking) I will just have to cringe when I read it, and hope that the rest of you can read with kind eyes and not feel overly harsh at me for my lax attention to you all and to the fiction. I continue to work on it and this fiction is my only concern now. I want desperately to say I've completed it! Just it is slow going until then.)  
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Chapter 13 Salt to the Land 

That season held both the best and worst of my life. Trowa was much as he'd been on the ship. Though here, this being my world, I was far more aware of how often it seemed he was away from me. He managed to remain busy, to make friends despite his almost incessant silence, and to always be somewhere else.

The summer had come into its fullness, pregnant with heat and with the growth of things. I had distant memories of laying back under the sun in the greenery of the garden, most often with a good friend, lazily playing about with this or that bug we'd found. I longed to find that same cool shade with Trowa. I dreamt in the way a man who is wanting without knowing the fullness of his need, that Trowa would come to me whilst I sat beneath the great oak. There, upon the grass and with my mother's roses all about, we would talk of nothing. Or perhaps he would talk of nothing. I, on the other hand, would fill the silences with my joy at being allowed to simply be near him. My talk would make him smile that secret smile and he, my silent lover, would hold my hand or touch my cheek with the casual passing borne from long accustomed habit.

But such days were not to come to pass. Instead the land was all the more demanding of my time and that of the others. Natan and I constantly were watching skies, speaking over how to prepare for harvest, weeding and working on the irrigation, and because we were past the solstice, we were busy with the harvest.

How had I ever thought that harvest was a November act? I had lived my childhood in this land so far removed from the earth as to be completely unaware of the intricacies that had put food on my table. Now, as lord of my father's lands, I found myself learning more than I'd ever thought possible. My mother's watermelons were a lesson of strength and patience with futility. Each day I begged for flowers to appear upon the vines and then once they came, that the fruit would just grow quickly enough to provide her with the simple taste of melon before the winter came and stole them from me. It seemed they would forever remain unripe and I worried over them, carrying buckets of water to them every day.

Once there, I would stand over them, protective and captured in a bowl of waving green, watching the plant life about me swaying with the gentle sea winds. It had been a good year. Truly, there was a constant soft breeze, always smelling of salt sea air, and Natan smiled often, speaking of how the sea folk had their eyes upon us, their hands upon their children's children. And he more often gave me a look that finally, the luck which was to come of my hair, had finally come to fruit, much like the lands he loved so deeply.

As the season spread under me, I began to note then, the way in which wherever I was, Trowa made a study not to be. And yet, always was he within sight. It was as if I were trying to capture a dandelion fluff dancing on the water. Every waft of air made it dance just beyond reach.

My attempts became more purposeful after some weeks of this. I questioned so intently pursuing someone who did not seem to want me, yet had I not seen something in his eyes that first time in the field? Was it just imagination that stated he remained for me?

I am not a man ashamed of admitting that I spent many a night weeping into my pillow, filled with frustration and longing. Trowa bypassed my every attempt to have him near. I wished for him to speak to me, to spend his time with me. Yet there was more to do than anyone had time to finish and he was busy as was I. So perhaps it had been merely a construct of my mind that he both hovered yet always fled from me.

Then, I found to my dismay, as I was finally afforded time, nothing happened as I had wish of.

Chickens have a place within my history. I laugh about it now how they've marked many of the most important moments in my life. As a child, my father's death came after a dinner of chicken, the same which was to give my mother her fancy hat. Then my loss of my wife, the sight of Trowa there beside the chicken coop aboard the ship, and then this time wherein I went to find the elusive first mate.

Natan, well aware of what I made no secret, that I sought Trowa with increased fervor every day, happened to stop at the stables that morning, pausing and smiling at me through the doorway.

"Ser," his eyes dancing, he watched me put aside the leather gear I was oiling. At my unspoken attention, he continued with a bit of an indulgent chuckle. "There's a bit of an issue wi' th' chickens, ser?"

"Yes? What manner of issue, Natan?" It struck me as strange that he Natan of all people, would approach me about something so simple as a chicken. Often we spoke of much more general concerns, harvesting and supplying, but chickens?

"Aye ser," his face broken into a boyish smile. I began to watch him with concern that I was being horned into a trap without knowing it. "Th' hens, ser. There be one or two what don't lay. Thinkin' what ye'd like us ter do? It be more'n likely, ser, that we could ha' them for dinner this day? Or send'm ter James' daught'r-'n-law? She be wi' a newborn, ser."

Now I knew something was awry. I stood and left behind the leathers. Looking across the yard to the chicken coop, I watched the hens pecking at the ground. "I see no reason not to send them to James's child and his wife. What would you have of me, Natan? This is not a usual request."

Natan looked repentant but with insufficient veracity in his face and manners as he clutched his hands like a good wife. "Aye, ser. But y'see, it be th' chicken keeper. Y'see, he be a bit reticent ter tell me what one be nowt makin' eggs. I be thinkin' he nowt sure what ye're wantin' him ter do, so I be askin' for 'im. Ye might talk ter 'im soon, ser."

I frowned, going over who it was we had set to the chickens. The truth was I did not recall ever talking chickens with Natan before and I wondered at his secrecy with the name. "You're playing with me, Natan," I said to him directly.

He laughed, a great, belly of laughter while he clapped my on the shoulder as he so often did with the men out on the field. I started, then grinned, unsure what I had done to get such approval, yet loathe to correct him in such a breach of society. I made no secret about my great admiration for Natan.

"Aye, ser. I be playin' ye. But if'n ye jus' look o'er there, ye'll be seein' why." He pointed his chin back to the coop and my gaze followed his indirect motion.

Trowa, slender as a reed and dressed in the flowing pale garments of my people was ducking into the coop. I swallowed down the sudden nervousness that broke through my body like a cold sweat. Then, heart leaping to the fore, I gave a wide smile at Natan and with a great deal of a blush I am sure, made my way across the yard to have a talk with the chicken keeper.

What words would I say? How would he respond? It would be dimly lit in the chicken coop. Would I know his eyes? Would he see mine? Would he smile and kiss me, or would he turn away? I agonized over an appropriate opening line to address him with, but the door came to bear far too quickly for my comfort.

Standing before it, captured by my indecision, I was almost laid flat by its opening outward. Stumbling back, I could sense that this was an important moment. For through the door came the very statuesque god like man, his one green eye watching me impassively, his mouth twitching at the corners as he let the door close behind him. How expressive was that face! I read everything upon it, my heart beating so wildly that I was certain everyone within a two klick radius could hear it.

He waited on my leisure, his head tilted slightly to the side and amusement writ in that one secret eye. But all thoughts of what to say, how to begin the dialogue I so desperately wanted died on my tongue. I gaped my mouth open and closed like a fish out of water, trying to catch my breath. When his amusement began to be replaced by concern, I croaked out a sound and waved my hand.

Humiliation taking over, I fled into the safety of polite society. "Ah, yes. Hmm. Natan told me we have two hens which are not laying any longer. This is fine and good, for we have a new clutch come upon us?"

He only nodded, gauging me with his distant gaze. I was a small boy again, trying to talk to my father and finding myself tongue tied. "Very well then, err, James has a new grandchild I've heard. Down in the village. I believe that his son's wife - this would be Michael's wife, Nora - would like to have a hen or two. Let us have them plucked and cleaned for her before she receives them."

Watching him, it was as if I waited on his approval. They were my chickens and if he had said no, I wouldn't have had a word to argue with.

He looked back to the chicken house and then to me once more. A small nod again. His mouth remaining firmly closed. Dismay rose inside. I made myself a fool and he was doing nothing but acting the servant, reminding me, perhaps of my position?

My mouth dry, I managed to swallow down bile, feeling the butterflies in my stomach wanting to leap out through my throat. "Very well then, see it done." I waved my hand in lordly fashion, sorry the moment I had done it. I was reaffirming what he'd thought about our places. Or was it merely disappointment? So frightened by the very weight of a captured moment, I was unable to read anything upon his previously open face.

Like a dog escaping a beating, I turned tail. Either disappointment or affirmation of wrong intentions, it did not matter. I had failed he and myself. Had he been a man such as Natan, one of those under my care, my taking an interest would have been seen as obscene, unseemly. To take such advantage was a breach in decorum on either side of the social fences. But he was a freeman, wandering my lands and taking refuge, choosing to stay or go.

But I had forgotten that. And days later, moping about, with Natan at my side, I was reminded of it by Natan's soft reminder that James wished to speak to me about the gift I had made his daughter in law.

I stared at him, confused for a moment. I had thrust the reason for my wretchedness out of my head - little good it had done. I was unmanned by my inability to do more than lord it over Trowa as if I had something to prove to him. Though I knew on some level that it was mere fear that led me to such idiocies, I could not quite let go of the guilt and the catastrophising of the entire episode. I had made a fool of myself, therefore Trowa would wish even more to stay away from me.

Then it came back to me and I laughed, short and bitter. "Sorry, yes. Of course."

Natan hemmed and hawed a bit at that point, watching me before summoning up the courage to ask me, "Th' new man, ser. Ye've taken a likin' ter'm?"

Ah, yes. Yes I had. I paled and the back of my neck felt hot. "Yes, Natan. Is it of concern?" I was unsure if I should lash out in anger at the presumption or to fall into pieces from my own fears rounding about me.

"No ser! Nowt at'all, ser." Natan beamed my way. "Trowa's a right fine man, ser. He don' talk much, course. But he do his job well an' I cannowt think 'o a man what'd be better for ye."

I looked at him in alarm. I knew that he had been attempting to set up a moment or two for Trowa and I to begin, but then I had ruined it. Yet here he was, asking again. Was it possible that Trowa had not told them all of how badly I had broken Natan's gift?

Natan, clearing his throat, moved his great feet from one side to the other, bemused by my surprise. "Ah, th' wife an' I've been talkin' about it, ser. Trowa's a good man, ser. But we an' ours've been wonderin' bout how ye're doin' nowt ter set 'im up as yer consort? Ye've asked 'im, right?"

Asked him, as if it were that simple. Yet it was for them. Why it had only been that season I had seen two of our people recognize each other's existence and within a week, move house to the side of town, both leaving parental homes. It had seemed just that easy. He had only asked her and she had said yes. If she had said no, he would have found another girl during another season.

But could I do the same? Shaking my head in mute fascination at the idea I also knew it would never be what I could do. I had lost one love of my life. I feared desperately the loss of another. And then I realized that it was I loved him. The very fullness of the fear was telling.

"I … do not think he would say yes, Natan," I said, my chest tight and my eyes feeling as if they were burning. I turned from him to look elsewhere, not wanting him to see the regularity with which I fell to tears upon thinking about Trowa.

"Ah," Natan's answer was ambiguous, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

"He does not even wish to have me around," I protested.

"Mmm."

My words were leaden then. I stared at the ground at my feet. "I have tired time and time again to arrange work with him, yet he's always … busy elsewhere."

"Yet close enough ter be seen, I noticed," Natan said with barely veiled amusement.

Frowning, I nodded, acknowledging the fact.

"Quatre," Natan began, beginning on a far more personal vein. "Ye're well bred an' as such, ye be more subtle than th' run o' th' mill plough boy. Where a man o' th' fields would jus' go an' stand next ter his choice, ye wait for th' man ter meet ye, show ye signs he be wantin' ye. Ye're fearin' botherin' but ye're ne'er botherin' ter anyone who be on this land."

He would have had a point if I'd been someone else. I shook my head. It was a nice sentiment that it could be that easy.

Sighing, Natan shrugged. "Ye've ter take what ye want o' yer life, Quatre, ask for what ye need, or take only what come ter ye. Ye've ter choose. Ye'll be fisherman or drifter. Ye wan' fish or ye wan' flotsam?"

His words kept to me as the summer began to pass us. I began, unwittingly, to test his theory, being far more obvious. Rather than waiting and watching from afar, I would now and then intrude myself in upon tasks where Trowa was working. I would take a handle for a hoe which he reached for, then smile at him and flush while I went for another.

When one moment was not rejected, it led to another and another. Until, like a dog at heel, I was spending any free moment hovering around Trowa. I was dreadfully obvious in my attentions. And in being so, I began to speak for us both because he would not speak. Neither did I ask questions, feeling that last boundary I could not cross. I would not put him into corners to force speech from him, but rather I fled the possibility that he refused by making it easy for him to never say a word, even impossible as my fear increased.

But now I realize that what gave me greatest fear was the flight of the southeron birds and my innate sense that when the time came, Trowa would leave as well. There would be a change in the wind, I knew, and he would float back to sea with the pulsed wing beats overhead.

I became more desperate, almost to the point of shirking my duties, though I managed to finish them - often not as meticulously as usual. However I was at the worst of times, an incurably careful man and so laxness on my part was more than adequate, even as distracted as I was.

There was much to do and my time with Trowa was being cut short. There was the butchering to do and the sheaves to stack up. There were cabbages to bury and grain to place in great bins relegated for such purpose. Baking and curing of meats, salting and drying, and the general hubbub of preparations for a wet and icy winter as so often our winters were.

And always, in the midst of this, was the pressure of knowing as instinctively as a babe knows to feed at the breast, that Trowa was leaving.

The business of the season made every day a year and every week a moment. I feared the passage of time and clung to Trowa, speaking in tones that were increasingly desperate. I can only imagine what he thought of me then, so worried I was losing his presence that I began to cross all manner of boundaries, speaking of my internal world as if it had as much validity as did the real world around us. Our moments were small and only those I could manage to create here and there. And the moments alone were even less. Yet I was determined to give him cause to remain. I felt that if he knew me as intimately as I knew myself, that he would make a decision to either turn away from me or to remain. And while I was unsure how I would react if he chose to turn away, I was willing to take the chance if it meant he may remain.

What was my reasoning? I merely hoped that by giving him all of myself, telling him of my hopes, my fears, my childhood, my dreams of the night before, what I'd had for breakfast - that I would introduce him to myself and he would find a reluctance to part himself from that.

But the more I disclosed, the more I recognized nothing would hold him. He passed through my fingers like the water and I came away with but a sparkling memory of what was there.

Frost was on the air and snow had come to the low hills north of the manor, fully covering the distant peaks on the king's isle which sat upon the horizon. Autumnal winds were replaced by the rust flavored winds or winter. The harvest finished, many of the women were drawing out their looms, boiling fat to make tallow candles, taken the beaten flax to spin with, and I sat beside my great fire in the great hall of my father's manor, staring at my hands.

Trowa had always seemed biddable. He hadn't fought my being near him. Neither had he asked that I do so. He had taken my presence or lack of, as simply as the tide takes the presence of a man standing on the sands. And like the tide, I could do nothing to still his retreat. Unlike the tide, however, I did not know if he would return and I felt certain that this, like that time at the chicken house, was a moment long since wasted on me. I was doomed to look back on a series of minutes and hours that were used wastefully.

A hand reached out, silently, taking mine. I looked up in surprise at the warmth in them. Mine were chilled from my time outside. I had just come in but moments before from overseeing the final closing of the barns and the silos.

It was the first time in all of my memory of him that he had touched him and I had been fully aware of it. I felt my entire body ease, finding home. Love like a wave was overwhelming and I could not see it for it was so much larger than I, and I was so small.

Fingers closing around mine, Trowa settled upon his heels between I and the fire, the light glancing off of the darkness of his hair, creating shadow out of shadow. I stared at him, as speechless as the first time I'd seen him, and for many of the same reasons.

"They are no longer soft."

I stared at him, not fully realizing that it was his voice between us, hovering there on wings as delicate and ethereal as a dragonfly's.

"They were always so soft." He was looking at my hands as I had been doing not so long before. I felt my eyes going to my fingers again. "But you do not live a life of ease."

Had I ever? Yes. I had. I had had it far too easy. And now it was going to be harder than even my fingers could attest to. He was speaking. Why did I feel this sinking in my heart? Why was I beyond tears? I flexed my fingers against his own. He too had calluses from years of hard work, far more sturdy calluses than mine, but I would catch up one day. "I - I found I couldn't," I stammered. "Coming back, I felt… useless unless I had something to do."

His one green eye lifted to stare into my face. I did not know that I had stopped looking at my fingers until I became lost in the wisdom and the age and the depths of that eye. "And you do no run from them any longer. Those who's minds cannot help but crash over yours."

I felt as if we were having a multitude of conversations and I was only hearing one. I amazed myself by knowing what he was speaking of and realizing that I had not thought of it. For a moment, I stared at him, lost, then struggled to discover what it was he questioned.

"I am too busy?" I attempted. "Or, perhaps nothing is as bad as it was on the ship." Why did I not question then? I was without thought, taking part in a life that was only partially mine. He spoke in a low voice, as long and deep as the breaking waters from a distance.

"Then you are happy here." It was a question and one I loathed to answer for it had too many answers to fit into this moment and I could not reach the depths of the other conversations, the other worlds we were crossing.

"Yes," and my heart cried out. Only because you are here. Please don't go!

And as if he had never spoken to me of anything but what was the most visible, he stood and broke his fingers from mine. "Then it is time for me to return."

I watched him go. I watched the expanse of his back, lithe from the work on a ship, strong from the work in a field, the best and greatest of land and sea, walking away from me. My heart shattered with clarity and I could not breathe. Time ceased.

Then he was gone. And the clock's ticking intruded into my mind. Numb, I fitted my hands to either side of the bench I sat upon to push myself up, but halted. Under my hand, a small object, cutting into my palm. Trembling, sensing something as great and fearful as a coming storm, I raised it to my eyes, slowly unclasping my fingers.

With a cry of pain, I tore my hand from my sight and clutched my fist to my heart, bending over the small white flare as winter crashed down upon me, sweeping me away into it's frozen wastes.

It was the shell.

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Chapter 14: (The end together with many questions left unanswered - a visit to the duke, the sea, and a recovery of all lost things.)

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(A/N: _Sabby dear - you are amazing and I love your input, always. Thank you sincerely.  
Also thanks goes out to all of you wonderful readers. You're all too kind to me and I am honored that you'd read my hobby. It makes me smile every time.) _


	14. Holding Home Close

Holding Home Close

If there was winter more bleak than that one, I have yet to find it. The snows came and with them, the howling mournfulness of winds. Gusts blew in from the east, from the west, from the sky but never the sea. I remained abandoned to the barren landscape of my soul. The great scow that had become my body, holding my heart in its shallow innards, floated upon time beyond sight of changing shoals.

Now and again, others would come to me, attempt to rouse me from my malaise. Natan sat alongside me for hours that winter speaking in low tones about the crop planning for the next year. My mother had her melons, he had kept them in one of the cool earthen cellars. Still we had to begin preparations for the spring. Seeds were to be counted and distributed, animals fed or butchered still, candles made, more cloth spun than during the summer months, blades sharpened - the list went on.

I heard his words. I know I responded well enough, he often agreed with me, yet always there was that concern, lurking behind his gaze. Now and again, as he stood to leave me his touch landed heavily upon my shoulder in much the way my father would have done in a similar situation. Before my internment at sea, I would have taken offense simply for the sake of custom. Yet I could not find it in my heart to hold such familiarities against him.

Spring did arrive and brought with it all of the plans that Natan and I had spoken of. Though I had garnered a better understanding than in the year's planting before, I was of less aid and a great deal more hindrance due to my moods. I would watch the skyline for travelers or a simple breath of air from the direction of the sea incited me to leave a task and wander.

My world was a nightmare. I had fallen in love with a creature, a monster, a god. Having played the fool I could think of nothing less than he. Pretty faces held no fascination for me, the sight of lovers together produced pain. The usual gatherings about a bonfire or even the few invitations that bravely fought through the mist of rumor around my odd behavior since returning which enfolded me - even these were so distasteful that I fled from the offerings like a tiger from a burning brand.

My mother came to me that spring. Her voluminous skirts heralded her approach, sounding like rushing waves. Then again, all sounds were the sea to me. I sat in a roll back chair before the great window of my apartments where I looked out upon the fields and the men who worked them. My fingers rubbed against the calluses of my palms, sure to soften now that I could not help or rather, was of so little help my shame kept me from trying. I had taken to hiding in my rooms by then.

She took a place across and arranged her skirts so that they would look the most beautiful in the sun. Her easy acceptance of her role I found enviable.

"My son. Do you know the words they say of you?" She regarded me in a calm manner. She had every right to feel disappointment in my conduct yet she spoke without the haughty anger of a true lady of the court. My mother had been the wife of a man who loved the land. She was as earthen as he had been, though far more apt to distinguish herself through social graces.

I could not look at her. "I am sure a great deal of it is kind," the kindness given to the mad.

I did not hear assent I'd expected to. Instead, she sighed and her silk rustled. "They say you are bewitched. That you are taken by the sea and we have a mockup of our lord. A changeling has been set in his place. They say that you are taken to the Haldian flower essences, become drunk on them and are wasting away under their influence. They say," her voice took on a thoughtful tone, "that you are gone the way of Chopa Inessa, our ancestor, and that you pine for the Oin Sa Marne."

The last startled me out of a dream. I looked at her in shock and found her gaze to be steady and measuring. She smiled and leant back in satisfaction. "So I thought as well," she stated with a soft pleasure before she turned her gaze to the window.

"You know the land is always good to us," she began, "but our coastlines change. The storms are worse if one is to believe their elders and betters. Sailors say that there the sky and the water breaks down and whittles away upon the land which was given us. Those who believe the tales, tell that we are due another of the sea folk for our land. The protection of Lady Inessa is ancient and powerful. But her love for us must be rekindled every now and then."

I swallowed hard and shook my head, somewhat bewildered. I had left my home, a young, fiery man, with little time for fairy tales. "I have not heard such rumors," I said, uncertain of the outcome of a such a talk. No person of the island was completely ignorant of Chopa Inessa, the god who walked blessing upon our lands and who had tilled it after it had risen from the sea, casting out the salt and making it food for our grain, negotiating a pact with the Oin Sa Marne for good winds. "The tales of Lady Inessa are tales told to young girls who are looking to love, not to boys who want to find adventure," I admitted with some reluctance.

My mother nodded in her quiet way, her fingers playing about a small rope of silken brocade looped beside the bodice of her dress. "I know. The Lady Inessa is often forgotten in such tales. Yet old women such as myself speak of her to one another, as do the men who keep their hands in the earth too long not to hear the murmurings of its origins." She laughed at my expression. "Oh don't be so priggish, dear. I am old. I am wont to a bit of madness myself, believing such things."

She stood then, going to the window, her fingers finding a pane of glass and looking a great deal younger with the light behind, keeping age in shadow. My mother was always a beautiful woman. She also was far from mad. No more than I was.

I knew I was not mad. I was bereft, yes. I was tortured, yes. But mad? Never.

When younger, I might have said something then in defense of her, but my mother had upon her a tale to tell and the silence spoke its own words. I knew better than to pierce it.

"Oh my dear son," she began in the soft lilt of the tale speakers, "It was many thousands of years ago, when the Isles were yet new and there was only Piset, Ulika, the island of the kin, and Ain t'Harki to live upon. But man was a creature of small numbers and the islands could keep him easily with their foods, for much life grew abundant upon the islands.But his knowledge grew and the Great Mari'n burned out the first boat, fitting it with sails made from the dropped feathers of the gulls. Now the people could fly the waters and they did so, eating the fish and multiplying until the sea cried out in pain.

"Such pain was heard by the Oin Sa Marne who live in balance at all times and who are unchanging. They heard and their king called to him his youngest daughter, Inessa we call her, for her name was too great to speak in the air. To her, in her infinite love and wisdom, he gave the task to balance the land above the waves.

"From our people was a young fisherman and hunter called Chopa who had also seen the ocean's pain. He began to speak to the gods. He went to the mountain of Piset and begged for wisdom. He went to Ulika and spoke to the tree spirits, and he traveled to Ain t'Harki to speak to the Pool of the Goddess who was alive then and walked in her trees and meadows. It was there that he was told to take a boat, fitted with the wings of a great albatross, and to fly his way westward from Piset. He was to go until he found the sea boiling. There he would discover what to do to save his people and the watery lands around them.

"So he took one of the Mari'n ships, a small one which none would miss. Then he shot down one of the traveling birds. He fitted the boat with a single wing for a sail and kept the other for another time. He set out as the Goddess had told him until he found the ocean boiling in the manner in which she said. There he stopped and furled his sail. His boat remained there, for all that night, with the bubbling ocean all about him. And during that night he fell to sleep. He dreamt of a land of golden water, waves extending for much distance in all directions. When he awoke, he found rock beneath him and a new land surrounded him.

"He left the Mari'n ship and walked the island, his fascination with the magic in its birth so great he did not notice how his shoe leathers were cut by the new rock and how his blood covered the ground. There was no life on the island and it was barren as the moon's face. He named it then the Moon Arl and it has been named such ever since for it seemed to him the people who lived there would be people of the moon.

"But the story does not end there. For at the edge of the sea, the daughter of the sea folk waited for him. She took his hand and they fell in love. She gave him tokens from the sea; a bowl of small glittering fish to read the future, a sword of coral rock which was light and strong, a shell of beauty to put on the bed of their first child. Then he took her to him as his wife.

"The land drank the blood of his footsteps and became earth to feed him in return. Lady Inessa brought him seeds from lands no one knew and he planted them. They tilled the island from the northern tip to the southern most tip of what is now the Eastern Wastes, and they created grain and food and Lady Inessa forgot about the sea and bore him children instead."

It was an old tale. As she spoke it, I fingered the shell in my pocket and dimly recalled hearing her voice tell the same when I was almost too young to understand. When she had finished and her fingers fluttered in the age old blessing, I brought forth the shell in a sudden gesture and presented it to her.

She took it from me, then sat down once more and spoke to my inability to speak. "It is said that her love directs storms away from us and keeps our crops healthy. We ask her to give us rain on this day or that day, to keep back the ice of the colder months so that our grains might grow longer. Still, her protections are no longer enough. Her bloodline has become thinned. Among our people, there are few who are born Yoedian Arl. The webbing between fingers and toes is almost nonexistant, and the traces of true gold in the hair is dimming. Your presence has always been held with some amazement, for you look more of the sea than most of us." She laughed then in memory and lightly ran her finger over my shell. "Your father used to say it might be best if he gave you back to the sea, that you were a switched babe and that we raised one of the Oin Sa Marne."

My amazement at this must have shown for my mother placed the white shell upon her skirts and reached for me. I gave her my hand and she patted it as gently as she had the shell. "He was proud to have so much sea blood in his child. You shone like a gold coin on the day you were born. He thought you were to bring us a luck that we had not known. And when you went to Halid, his heart broke, though he believed it to be all for the best."

How long I wept into her lap I do not know. But when I had finished I was holding the shell and I had wept out a great deal of the melancholy that kept me moored to my misery. When my mother took my chin in her fingertips and whispered, "I think you must go to visit our good friend the duke and see how it is with him," I agreed with her.

The crossing to Milliardo's home, Kin's Isle, the home of the Greater Market, with the ocean all about, the rigging creaking overhead, reminded me that a deep, unsettled part of me was pelagic, would always belong to the ocean. I leant over the wooden banisters and stared down into the dark water many hours during that trip, searching for a small sighting of the true Sea Folk, the sea bound Oin Sa Marne.

No matter how I searched however, I saw nothing but porpoises and silver flashes of fish that voyage just under and before a ship's prow.

Milliardo's manor sits upon the cliffs of Kin's Isle. I chartered a buggy and drove along the coastline for some ways before coming upon it, nestled in a break in the rocks, the road descending down to a gentle rise from the beach.

It is a beautiful home. It is colored coral with cream accents, built humbly, rising only three windows' height at the very fore which faces the sea. At its entrance it is but one story. The drive comes to the entrance which all use but for a smaller servants' entrance off at the edge of the west wing.

I left the road to come to that entrance, there met by my friend and his household staff. Among them stood a stiff and formal Wufei in the golden braided livery of a man servant. He too, bowed to me but I bypassed such formalities and grabbed him about the shoulders and held him to me.

Wufei smelled of ginger and lavender. His hair was soft upon my cheek and he was no longer all bones as he had been. I clung to him and felt my heart break once more. No matter the changes in him, Wufei held for me, in his presence, all of the world I had lost.

Fearing he would be angered, I believe I held to him longer than I should have. But after a time, he relaxed in my grasp and lightly held my shoulder in his palm, resting his cheek against my ear. I took comfort from this and did not marvel at it for my mind was not fully at rights, captured by the smell of the sea and the sight of my former charge until a voice broke into my reverie.

"And what about me?"

I released Wufei and with a smile, gave my old friend an embrace as well, though somewhat more perfunctory. "My lord. You are kind to take me on."

Milliardo laughed, his teeth white and his very air with the same haphazard cheer that I'd found difficult to retain from my days as nobility. "Kind? My dear friend, come." He took my arm and led me toward the entrance. "If for no other purpose than to see Wufei accept your touch, any touch, let alone a touch so extensive, I would have had you come sooner."

I heard the pain in that and looked back of me to where Wufei carried a small bag of mine. There stained his cheek, a slight blush and I thought that perhaps it wasn't so hopeless as my friend thought. It was possible that Wufei would not only accept my advances.

I kept such revelations to myself, instead holding to Milliardo's arm and making appropriate offerings of gratitude. "I think, my friend, that Wufei is as he always has been, a man of high breeding with much pride. It would take a great deal of respect and patience to discover him."

Milliardo as well, flushed at that and my lack of artifice. I had long ago forgotten how to play the game of wit. But Milliardo was still somewhat accomplished, despite the situation I had placed him in. He waved a hand glittering with rings and laughed it off. "Yes, but we did not have you come to speak of my household. We wished you here for your company. Your dear mother, the Lady, has asked that I entertain you and heal you. She seems to believe the sea would do you some good, though I'd expect you would want to never see sea spray again in your life! Tell me, do the streams of your small isle make you sea sick when you cross over them?"

I laughed at this and in no time we were spending our time in the idle banter reminiscent of when I was a younger man. But it did not affect the kind of change my mother may have wished. Or perhaps it was just as she might have wished.

We ate together that evening, myself and Milliardo, his sister and her friend, a young officer whom was hoping for the sister's approval, and Wufei who watched me often to see if I would be against his sitting amongst the others but once assured of my own attentions, relaxed enough to quietly enter the conversation. Granted, it was an oddity for a man servant to take such liberties, but I was sure that it was but one step in Milliardo's plans to capture his slave in more ways than one. Nor did I think that Wufei was blind to such designs upon his virtue and his future.

My apartments overlooked the sea, with a immense window framed by silken draperies which rustled and complemented the sounds of the ocean breaking upon the beach below. I sat upon the window seat for hours before I turned out my light and went to my moonlit bed.

That evening, I dreamed that I could hear and feel all the infinite thoughts of that household. They crashed upon me, despair and love, fear and anger, laconic certainty and iron pride… I could not sort through a one of them and cried out, waking myself up. Then I sat in bed and looked to the shadows, sure I had seen in dream or in reality, the whispering rags of my Oin Sa Marne, my Trowa, tucked back in the corner of the room.

Afraid of frightening him, I did not turn on my light but stretched out my hand and stood, walking toward the corner I was certain he stood in. When I came to the wall and the empty shadows were clear to my eyes, no longer moon blind, I leaned my cheek against the cool surface of stone and wept before returning to my bed.

The days passed one into the other. While Milliardo struggled to gain acceptance by his newest acquisition, I watched in amazement as Wufei carefully laid down his own traps as skillfully as a southeron dragon master could. Although I could see this, I did not say a word to anyone for I also saw the outcome. Where Milliardo sought a dalliance and would harm his own self with his childish ways, the wiser Wufei was guiding him into a longer standing agreement, one which obviously made Wufei happier than ever I thought he might be.

Still, with that happiness was a sense of uncertainty and shame, a look which would cross over Wufei's face now and again as I watched him play his verbal game of Catch Me if You Can. One day, in order to keep from looking out to the sea and being captured by it - a state I found myself in when I would walk past a large window facing to the waves - I determined to discover the story of the haunted ship I had been upon and the source, I was sure, of the misery which warred with Wufei's newly budding joy.

I tracked Wufei down to the kitchens where he was speaking to another slave with close cropped black hair and tawny eyes of the southeron peoples. Wufei showed surprise at seeing me but quickly broke away and came to me. He did not bow to me, for we'd foregone such shows in the house. I had assured him that I owed him more than I could ever repay and that such shows of respect were unseemly, unless he wished me to bow to him as well. He did incline his head in greeting, however.

"Quatre," he said and his lips quirked in a small smile, all I would ever see upon his face, but telling none the less. "You are hungry?"

"I wish for your company, Wufei. Will you walk to the water with me?"

He startled at that. But I was as surprised as he for I'd meant to ask him to walk the grounds. I had forgone any near proximity to the ocean in the entire time I had remained there. Yet, suddenly I knew this to be the right thing to do. I had need of hearing his story and I could not do it so far inland.

We walked to the beach in silence and I stood almost at the line of demarcation between sand and wave watching each grasping fingerlet of water temporarily stain the line of beach.

Despite my wish to know his story, now that we were there, I could not ask it of him.

"Trowa… was one of the Oin Sa Marne. Did you know?" I asked him, turning my head to him while still facing the sea.

Wufei inclined his head. "In my land, they are called the Dream Keepers. But I had thought it possible. I believed you were a Dream Keeper as well, when you first came to me. Your eyes and the way your mind seeks outside of itself."

I had known he knew of my ability to read emotions. If he could feel others in the same way as I though, I could not say and he did not feel it necessary to tell me. Instead he took a deep breath and looked out to the sea as well. "But you have not been well. I wondered why you look so wan. I realize now that you are of them and you were awakened while on our journey."

"Awakened?" I looked to him, amused at how his primitive culture looked at my having fallen in love with a creature of the gods, the sea.

"Yes. What was dormant in you has woken. When you came to the boat, you were an infant of your kind. You were easily overwhelmed by the ocean, by your fellow humans. I felt it sure that you were not fully Dream Keeper. My people believe such children as you, those with marks of the ocean, must be returned to the sea, given back to their people. But you were retained by your family, kept on land. Because of this, you have slept within. After meeting Trowa, one of your ancestors, you have been awakened. But you lack direction. You need an elder to guide you."

It was a rather mystical and philosophical attempt to make sense of something too simple to understand. "I fell in love with him," I stated quiet and certain, telling my simplicity to Wufei. The look of incomprehension and then pity was what I had expected and I knew that he did not believe me. Still, it felt comforting to say it aloud this close to the waters which housed my love. "And he loves me. He gave me this." I held out the shell which I carried in my waistcoat pocket at all times and let him take it.

Wufei turned it to the light. Then he returned it to me and crossed his arms over his chest. "I could teach you to meditate. Then you need not carry on like this. He is gone, back to his people. You are awakened and you must train yourself now. Just as our children return to us many years later and bring with them powers and magic, so could you. I will teach you if you wish."

I laughed for I could not help it. "Magic? No. No my dear friend. Only if it will bring me to him." I knew there was hope in my face as I looked at him, for I would have tried anything to have Trowa returned to me.

Wufei shook his head. "You cannot return. Only those who are fully of the sea can return."

"Then I will have to wait for him to return to me," I said with truth in my voice. I would wait forever. He had returned to me once. He would do so again. I did not need the complex superstitions of Wufei's people to muddy the waters of my love and my ways. The Halidians had attempted to do much the same, but I held strong then as well.

I looked out to sea and did not hear Wufei go. Now that I had come to the water's edge it seemed impossible I could ever leave. It called to me and in each splash against the shore I heard his voice whispering my name.

The remainder of the day I walked the beach from where Milliardo's home rose at the height of the cliffs to where the fishing village trundled down a sloping hillside and spit out its variable collection of ships and fleet boats to bob and list on the line between the open ocean and the water bound land.

The sun was going down when I returned. I dined with Milliardo and Wufei, with Milliardo's sister and others whom I could not even then have told you had attended. Then I found my bed early so that I might wake early and make use of the day.

Summer was well upon us when next I realized I had done this same thing day in and day out. I found myself sitting at an empty breakfast table. Beside my breakfast plate was the customary food package in oil skin which Wufei made certain I always took with me. How I knew it was Wufei I could not have said, for I did not recall him ever giving any such package to me.

I ate without realizing what I put in my mouth. I drank without tasting. I could not recall the last time I had talked to another human being.

Each day's walk, I heard the voices in the water. They were no longer whispers. Now they were songs and I realized that from the first, Trowa's voice was missing amongst them. I walked the beach front, listening all the while for his voice to appear. I ate when I came to the village and then I turned back and ate dinner. Dimly I could recall having seen Milliardo's concerned face, but I could swear that the others no longer sat at the same table as myself and that I often ate alone.

If I had been awakened on the boat as Wufei had said, then by the sea I was put back to sleep. I slumbered for I am not sure how long. And in my dreams I walked always. I heard the voices that were those of the Oin Sa Marne but was deaf to the voices of my fellow man, always so small in comparison. Even within the manor, I could still hear the ocean and it drowned out all else.

I dreamt that the sky filled with darkness and the sun turned to a grey mist. I dreamt that the sands under my feet were heavy with the moisture, moving sluggishly with each of my steps. I felt a wind upon my face but it was a distant sensation and all it did was slow my progress as it whipped into my coat and chilled my body.

I dreamt.

A white sail flew across my vision, landing at my feet and halting me. I stooped and plucked it up, shocked to discover it was warm and soft, feathers knit one beside the other and held to a framework of bone and dried flesh. I hefted it in my hand, surprised by how light it was and how large.

Beyond the furl of white a small boat bumped upon the shore. The windswept tide pressed it forward and toward me, calling me. Holding the wing at the joint I climbed into the boat and fastened the sail to the halyard and to the mast. Then I placed one foot back in the sea and sobbed for it was the first time I had touched the sea in so very long. Warmth spread through my body and I pushed the boat around and out to sea, drawing the wing open and letting the wind be captured within it. The boat floated out over the waves, danced into the winds, catching into the air and sailing just over each wave, like a great bird.

I stood at the helm and watched the storm rush upon me. Rising up before the darkened clouds, the waves were given life and each wave opened into a dark maw, a gullet which would swallow me down. I cried out the only name I remembered again and again, fearful of the approaching hunger in the storm. The first raindrops hit my face and the eddies of wind made it difficult for the boat to remain out of reach of each hungry mouth. Deep between lips of wave were troughs of blackness and I screamed like a child, fearful of what I had become.

No answer broke through and I wept. My tears were swallowed by the rain which plastered my hair to my face. The song of the Oin Sa Marne was lost to me as well and all the voices which had bewitched me for weeks were silent under the wrath of the storm all about me.

Without their power, the wing faltered and the boat dipped downward, plummeted toward the ocean, nose first.

I stared into the emerald green of the sea. It welcomed me as eagerly as a sea bird does a fish. My scream for him was lost and I was swept overboard by the next wave. My winged fleet boat disappeared, swallowed first. I reached for the white shadow which spiraled into nothingness within the depths below me.

Salt water filled my mouth. I choked upon it. I could not call out anyone's name, nor beg for help or mercy. I floundered in the middle of one more of those great mouths and sobbed in the silence made by the wind high overhead and the rush of wave coming down upon me.

"Trowa."

Then nothing but water in my eyes, my nose, my mouth, my ears. And yet I could hear them as clearly as if I stood in a church yard and listened to the choir within. The water song thrummed through me. I opened my mouth. I wanted to join in. I took a deep breath…

I woke to candlelight upon the backs of my eyelids and the sound of humming. A warm, dry hand touched my face. I opened my eyes and gazed upon Wufei. His brow was crinkled in concern and he stared at me for a long time.

"Wu- fei?" I gasped and my throat felt like it had been torn apart by a great many knives.

He lifted a brow and then gave me occasion to see that small smile which he held so secret. His hand smoothed my hair once more. "You know me," he stated.

"How silly," I croaked. "I've always known you."

"Have you?" he asked me.

"I.." I wanted to say of course, but I could not. I felt as if I were waking from a long dream where I had been so long I might have never found my way home. I did not know what to say.

"Do you remember going out to sea?" he asked then.

"A boat," I said with much hesitation. "And a sail… made out of an albatross wing. It.. flew over the waves."

He stared at me for a long time and then he shook his head. "One of the villagers came to us. He had seen you tacking out to sea with a storm coming on. You had stolen a child's boat."

This did not make sense because I only remembered the wing and the boat coming to me. I closed my eyes and was exhausted as I did so. "I do.. not remember," I finally whispered.

"A fisherman from another village was coming in for safe harbor. He plucked you from the waters, just after your boat went under."

"Ah." The waves of sleep dredged up over my head and I fell to dreamless lands once more.

I woke again and Milliardo was beside me. He was saying my name.

"I'm awake," I said.

"The storm has broken," he said. "But I wasn't sure if you wished to speak to the man who saved you."

The fisherman. He had drawn me from the waters. I needed to say something to him, thank him. He was not from the local village and it would be a long time before I would be able to travel to find him and thank him properly.

"Very well," I said. Something inside of me was empty where a part of my soul had been swallowed by the ocean like the white winged boat had been.

Milliardo stood and touched my hand. Then he walked to the bedroom door and opened it, ushering in a fisherman dressed in a leather coat and hat, both of which were liberally oiled to keep out the rain. The man was almost dry. He had to have waited a goodly time to no longer be drenched from the ocean outside.

He came to my bedside and drew off his hat. I must have known the moment he'd entered the room for I was not as surprised as I thought I should have been to see Trowa standing before me. Still, he was changed. No longer was he a statue removed from me. In his eyes was a look uncertain of reception.

I licked my lips which were dry and wondered if my voice would be strong enough. His hair was wet and his jacket smelled of the sea. Never had he looked more like my Oin Sa Marne before. Never had he seemed more human either.

I struggled to sit up and Trowa did not move help me as if uncertain of my reception of such overtures. Milliardo placed a hand at my back and set me a pillow behind me to help prop me up.

"You." I barely recognized the voice as my own.

He shifted his weight. "Yes. You called for me."

It was true. "I did. I wasn't sure how else I could let you know I needed you to come." I did not say how close I had been to losing myself forever in that needing of him to come. I did not say how if he had waited any longer even he may not have been able to bring me back as I knew that he had.

"I never left," he sat upon a chair by my bedside, taking my reaching hand. Our fingers tangled into a web of netting which could capture any fish.

"But you returned to the ocean," I protested.

"Returning to you is not the same thing. I never left you."

"Then I.. I don't understand. Why -?" There were so many questions. I did not know how to begin.

Yet he knew them all. He nodded sagely. "Because I cannot take what has not been offered. The waves only accept what is thrown into them. They do not take back what is taken from them."

I could feel his fingers flexing in mine. He was nervous still. We had not come to an understanding.

"I did not know."

His lips curved into a smile even more secret than Wufei's. "You know now."

A thousand directions I could set our feet to. I stared at the millions of roads which lay before us and knew that I was the only one to choose. "Then how do I…" begin?

He smiled, the final tension easing from his shoulders. "Only you can decide how to do that."

Another road, many more set themselves before me and it became an impossible task. I gripped his hand all the tighter. "But what if you don't want to give what I want to take.. or take what I want to offer?" I stared into his green eye and saw the ocean rolling there, saw the deep darkness of the depths which held my little flying boat, saw the waves upon waves of green grain sliding across the hills of my home island. I could not leave one behind, but neither could I leave the other.

"I am the sea. I will take all you offer and offer all you can take," he said with a laugh in the echo of the stillness of his mind. It had been so long since we had touched and he healed me slowly. "You need only choose."

I sat in silence and thought of this. A choice in a world where the choices were more than the sands upon the beach I had almost been lost upon. Then I looked up and saw in Trowa's eyes an answer to questions which I wasn't sure even had words.

I took…

And I offered.

And the choice was made.

Epilogue:

The man looked up from his writing, moving his hair out of his eyes, tucking the white-gold strands back behind his ear. Above him, the spread of the great elm which holds precedence over the western edge of the southern most field sets down shade in a land held hostage by the burning sun overhead. Many a man has been inclined, due to the heat, to remove his shirt and leave it hanging with others. They flag like forgotten leaves of a torn tome, tattered and flapping in the slight breeze which does nothing to cool those seeking shelter.

Setting his stylus to the side, he turns his hands over and gazes upon them once again. Blisters have long ago passed on into calluses set upon calluses. There sets upon the man a sense that this is how the best of life can be. Here he sits, sweat still beading on his brow, cold water being passed about in a ladle, the comfortable burn in muscles which show that he has accomplished more than writing down almost forgotten memories in his leather and cord bound book.

Turning his hands once more, he lays them, palm down, upon the book and draws one knee upward whilst leaning back against the solid trunk of the elm. He allows himself time to consider then, the path which has taken him this far.

In such a beautiful land, the emerald waves of life which nod with each gentle brush of wind, he thinks back and can no longer connect with his past, but in one thing; that being his memory of the pain in men he could not call friends but whom made a mark on him nevertheless.

It is then that he sets his mind to pity. Have Duo and Heero found the peace that Wufei seems to have found? Even if Wufei's peace were not complete, it is a kind of calm which suits him and speaks of a greater joy should Milliardo have any say in the matter. Or are they still seeking their paths to redemption, away from the madness they had unwittingly caused and had thrust upon them.

Contemplating the turn of his own mind, away from fear and into sadness, the man looks up to the edge of the field where a figure has cut away from the road and now crosses the field toward where he and his workers are breaking for water and baskets of bread and cheese. His mouth curls into a smile and he stands, brushing off his pants and leaving his shirt unbuttoned as he lays aside the small journal and walks out to meet the traveler and invite him to sit. Behind him, a tall man follows with hair the color of the earth and one eye visible, that one being a twin to the sea when in a summer storm.

The lordling's smile grows and he is happy. At one time, he can recall another traveler crossing this self same field. But Trowa now is always beside him, no longer returning or leaving with the seasons and the tides. He senses one day he may discover what has happened with the men of his past, Theo and Duo, Heero and Wufei, but for now, all is well. Or rather, as well as life can get.

And he is content.

_**THE END**_

* * *

A/N: _You all are marvelous! Thank you so much for reading! Can't believe I finished it!!! Hee hee. From a small one shot written for fun while sick as a dog, to more than a year later. It has been a fun ride._

_Okay Pandora! You're up!_


	15. Sequel Alert

And thus concludes the first part of the Sea Folk trilogy. Feel free to continue the story in "Southeron Dragon." In it, we will follow the seasons leading up to and slightly beyond the end of Quatre's tale of his shipwreck and the finding his Oin Sa Marne love. However, in this one, we will watch Milliardo attempt to break through the shell of his newly purchased and mysteriously distant slave.

I wish to apologize in advance for the lateness of any installments. I am busy with a new, wonderful hobby of dog mushing and it takes a great deal of my time. The writing hobby has taken a seat on the back burner, turned to at times, but often left to bubble. This does not mean it's cooling, however!

- Memme


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